


Victory, Vigilance, Sacrifice

by greysense94



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 264,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greysense94/pseuds/greysense94
Summary: Eruestan is a brilliant scholar who's happy to spend the rest of his life in the Circle. Rowena is a peerless warrior who dreams of traveling all of Thedas. When the Fifth Blight comes to Ferelden, however, and the entire country is shaken to its core, both will rise up to stop the horde and save the world.





	1. Movements in the Wilds

They almost looked like normal storm clouds. They were dark and rolling, stretching along the horizon and flashing with bursts of lightning. To the untrained eye, they were more a sign of inclement weather than anything more sinister.

Duncan, however, knew better. The Commander of the Fereldan Grey Wardens may never have seen clouds like these before, but he had long since learned the warning signs: the hints of green around the edges, the broiling and twisting that was visible even from where he stood perched on a cliff over the vast wastelands known as the Korcari Wilds. He closed his eyes and for a moment almost swore he could hear strains of a sick and tantalizing music, music he hadn’t heard for many years, music that could only mean one thing…

“What do you think?” one of his companions asked, joining him on the ledge. Radriline was a sharp woman with short dark hair and hawk-like eyes, which were scanning the horizon as her forehead began to furrow.

Duncan placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, an old habit that still managed to give him some comfort even as his pulse slowly began to pick up. “Not good,” he said grimly.

“Well, that was quick,” Eddric said, resting his giant body against a nearby tree. The cold temperatures of the far south had forced him to add the sleeves to his armor, and his muscles looked ready to burst out of the chainmail. “If I had known this was going to take five minutes I would have never left the tavern this morning.”

“ _Non, mais putain_ , Ed,” Radriline snapped. Her Orlesian accent, already thick, got heavier when she was angry. “If there was ever a time to show some respect, it would be now.”

“It’s all right,” Duncan said, his voice distant. He had long since learned how to diffuse tension between his two best Wardens – what he hoped, however, was that they couldn’t hear the strains of fear he felt creeping into his own voice. “And I agree with both of you. We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions, but we need to keep our minds clear now more than ever.”

“Would have kept a clearer mind at the tavern,” Eddric muttered; Radriline scoffed and stepped ahead of Duncan, peering ahead as if trying to find enemies lurking in the far-off mists.

“You really think it’s happening, then?” she asked. “Another Blight?”

“It’s a very bad sign,” Duncan replied. “Enough to make me worry.”

She turned back to him. “Then we need to get the word out. Denerim, Nevarra, the Imperial Court – if it’s starting, we don’t have much time to get ready.”

“The clouds aren’t enough,” Duncan said, walking up next to her. “We need something more tangible, something to take back as proof. Especially in this country.”

“Only Fereldans could ignore a Grey Warden’s warnings about a Blight,” Radriline sniffed. “So what do we do, then?”

“We don’t have much choice,” Duncan said. “We’re going to have to go into the Wilds.”

“Now _that’s_ more like it!” Eddric cheered, leaping up from the tree. “You hear that, kid? You’re gonna see some action after all!”

The last member of their party had been standing awkwardly in the trees, intimidated by the Wardens he had found himself with. He was a kind-looking young man with a nice smile and a shabby set of armor who looked better suited to a farm than a deadly mission to the heart of the Korcari Wilds. The boy’s father had looked like that, too, when Duncan had first met him; he wondered if anyone had ever told him that. “Are you ready, Alistair?” he asked. “A Warden’s first mission is never easy.”

The boy nodded, albeit a little nervously. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” he said.

“Don’t be foolhardy,” Radriline said sternly. “Remember what we told you – stick close to us, and if you see something, say something. There’s no telling what we’re going to find out there, so keep your wits about you – and if you want to stay alive, do _not_ panic, you understand me?”

Alistair’s face had gone white. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, at least we all know that you’ve still got that motherly touch, Rad,” Eddric said cheerfully. He clapped Alistair on the back, hard enough to make the boy stagger. “Let’s go, son! Adventure awaits!”

The two Wardens started to make their way down the ledge leading to the wastelands. Alistair began to follow them, a queasy look on his face. Duncan, however, sidled up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be fine,” he said calmly. “You won’t be alone out there.”

Alistair smiled weakly at him. With his blond hair and blue eyes, it really was like looking twenty years into the past. “Thanks, Duncan,” he said quietly. “I just hope I do well out there.”

“You will,” the commander said. “But come on, we should hurry up – we need to make as much progress as possible while there’s still sun.”

And with that the two men started making their way down the ledge as well, plunging into the depths of the Korcari Wilds.

* * *

 

The first thing Duncan noticed was the silence.

Normally the Wilds were filled with noise: chipmunks or birds, sometimes even distant howls of wolves or bears. Now, however, the forest had fallen completely silent, carrying only the sound of rustling leaves and creaking branches. The clanking of their armor seemed to echo for miles, the only signs of life in an empty void.

The Korcari mists, of course, didn’t make things any easier. The further they walked, the thicker they became, until at times it seemed to Duncan that they were walking amongst the clouds themselves. He himself had some trouble steering clear of tree roots; every few minutes someone in the party would stumble and squawk, barely managing to keep themselves from sprawling out on the ground. As always, the fog clouds started to play tricks on his mind, showing him images of animals, Wilders, and something much worse, an evil that seemed to be stalking them from just out of sight.  

But that was not the worst part of being out in the Wilds. No, what made Duncan’s stomach wrench with fear were the fleeting whispers that flooded his mind from time to time, a sweet melody of decay and destruction that made his skin crawl. As the day went on, the whispering became more and more frequent, and he could tell from Radriline and Eddric’s expressions that they were hearing it, too. Duncan set his jaw; whatever that meant, it was not good.

As the sun slowly began to set above them, Duncan stopped his march in the middle of a clearing. “We’ll set up camp here,” he announced, letting his pack fall to the ground.

 “Good choice, boss,” Eddric said, slumping to the ground. “Nothing says ‘home’ like a nondescript field in the middle of an evil forest.”

“Get up, you oaf,” Radriline said, tossing the sack she was carrying at him. “You can rest after you set up the camp.”

Eddric knocked the sack off his lap and stretched back with a yawn. “Let the recruit set up! Daddy needs his beauty rest.”

“You would literally need to slip into a coma,” Radriline said coldly. “And the recruit will do his part, just like you.”

Eddric sighed and climbed back up to his feet. “And just what part are you going to play, Madame Radriline?” he asked, pulling a tent out of the bag. “Supervisor?”

She glared at him and took her bow from off her back. “I am going to find us dinner,” she said. “Still feel like complaining, Ed?”

“Thanks, Raddy!” he called after her as she disappeared into the mists. “Be sure to get some rabbits!”

“Is she going to be all right out there on her own?” Alistair asked nervously.

Duncan nodded. “Radriline’s more forest than human,” he said. “Here, go and help Ed set up the tent. I’ll get the fire started.”

It took another two hours for Radriline to return to camp, by which time the fire had been burning for a while. “Maker’s breath, I’m starving,” Eddric roared upon seeing her. “Did you get any pheasant? I’d kill for a good pheasant.”

Radriline’s mouth was pursed. She through a sack down at his feet, one that landing lightly on the ground. “Something’s not right,” she said. “The Wilds should be full of rabbits at this time of year, but there was nothing. All I could get were mushrooms.”

“Mushrooms?” Eddric gasped. “ _Mushrooms_? Have you seen the size of my muscles, woman? Do you know what happens when I don’t get enough protein?”

“All you ever talk about is your damn muscles!” she snapped. “And I’m sorry that you didn’t get the dinner you want, but at least we have something! If it was up to you, we’d be eating rocks right now!”

“Rocks would be better than _mushrooms_ ,” he said in horror.

“That’s enough, you two,” Duncan said. That had to be another sign – animals always seemed to know when trouble was afoot. “Thank you for getting the food, Radriline. We should eat and get ready for an early night.”

They sat down around the fire and began eating what she had found. To her credit, Radriline had managed to scavenge enough in the woods to sate all of their appetites, even if Eddric was reluctant to admit it. “ _Mushrooms_ ,” he muttered after they had finished. “It’s like being stuck in the Deep Roads again.”

Radriline slumped her shoulders and sighed. “ _Saint Créateur_ , not again…”

It was too late; Eddric had already turned to Alistair. “I ever tell you about my time in the Deep Roads, son?”

Apparently horrified to find himself caught in Radriline and Eddric’s crossfire, Alistair shook his head meekly, as if trying to shrink into himself. “No, not really.”

“So there I was, miles underneath the ground,” Eddric said, immediately throwing himself into his story. “The Deep Roads are these ancient Dwarven tunnels, see, and they’re basically breeding grounds for darkspawn at this point. Well, I went down there with a bunch of dwarves on a mission like this one, just reconnaissance and whatnot – and let me tell you, kid, never trust a dwarf. The first sign of trouble down there, the whole troop abandoned me, and I was left all on my own.”

“You shouldn’t talk about dwarves like that,” Duncan cut in sternly. “They’ve been fighting the darkspawn for far longer than any of us.”

Eddric shrugged. “Well, these ones sure didn’t want to – and you know better than me that all dwarves are a little shady, boss.” Duncan conceded the point with a shrug. “Anyways, kid, I’m all alone down there – and trust me, the Deep Roads are not a place you want to end up on your own in. They’re dark, it’s cold, all you have to eat are _mushrooms_ …” Radriline huffed and crossed her arms. “That’s not the crazy part, though,” Eddric said. “The weirdest thing I ever saw happened down in those tunnels.”

Alistair frowned. “What was that?”

Eddric leaned in. “I’d been roaming down there for days,” he said dramatically. “Completely lost, almost going out of my mind, at the end of my rope, right? Well, just when I thought everything was over, I stumbled upon a whole horde of darkspawn.”

“Shit,” Alistair breathed.

“That’s what I said,” Eddric said. “I mean, I’m good, but I’m not that good, right? So I say my prayers and hope the Maker’s listening – and then this tall darkspawn comes up to me.” He paused for the effect, letting the crackling flames add feeling to the story. “He bends down…and he starts talking to me.”

Radriline scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“It’s the truth,” he said. “I can’t remember what he said, I was too out of it – but he went on for a while. Next thing I knew, they had dumped me near a patrol of dwarves from the Legion of the Dead, and they were able to get me back to Orzammar.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Radriline told Alistair. “Darkspawn can’t talk – right, Duncan?” Duncan grunted – that was a memory he preferred not to think about.

“I’ve got the marks to prove it,” Eddric said, glaring at her. “You’ve seen them, too. They took my blood, I’m sure of that – although Maker knows what they wanted with it.”

The conversation subsided for a moment, each person lost in thought about a different part of the story. “How smart are darkspawn?” Alistair asked suddenly.

Radriline frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know – I guess I just don’t know anything about them. If they can’t talk, they can’t be that smart, can they?”

The three Wardens glanced at each other. “Some are smarter than others,” Duncan said finally. “During a Blight, they’re able to organize themselves into huge armies, and they’re definitely smart enough to put up a nasty fight – speech does, however, seem to be too complicated for most of them.”

“But not all,” Eddric insisted.

“And so what even are they?” Alistair persisted, leaning forward. “All they ever told us in the Chantry is that they’re a type of punishment for the hubris of mages – is that what you think, too?”

Radriline rolled her eyes. “The Chantry says a lot of things.”

“Do we not believe in the Chantry?” Alistair asked quickly. “Sorry, I don’t want to sound stupid.”

“We don’t have any set way of thinking or believing,” Duncan assured him. “Some of us believe, others don’t. The only important thing is that we’re independent. Even if you believe in the Chantry, your only responsibility is to the Wardens once you join our Order.”

“But what _are_ the darkspawn, then?” Alistair asked.

“Monsters,” Radriline said.

“Ugly, evil buggers,” Eddric added.

“Both ways of saying no one knows,” Duncan said. “All we do know is that they appeared one day and nearly destroyed the world, whether they were sent by the Maker or not.”

“But what are they like?” Alistair wasn’t backing down. “What do they look like, how do they act?”

“They look like people,” Duncan said. “But sick, twisted copies of them. You’ll see for yourself soon enough. As for how they act…”

“Darkspawn show no mercy,” Radriline finished for him. “All they want is to destroy and kill, no matter what they come across. To them, an armed warrior is the same as a defenseless child.”

“Killing’s like a game for them,” Eddric added. “They don’t need to eat – sometimes they’ll chew the poor bastards they catch to pieces, but we think it’s more to terrify people than anything else. They do it just to do it.”

“They’re evil,” Duncan said quietly. “That’s all there is to it.”

They all fell silent again. All of a sudden, the vast emptiness of the Wilds surrounding them seemed oppressive, an almost-living thing. “We should get some rest,” Duncan said, looking out into the night. “I’ll take the first watch.”

The others nodded, glad to retreat back into the tent. The commander turned his back to the flames and looked out into the night. The darkness looked back at him that night, and deep in his heart he knew that something was changing irrevocably.

* * *

 

_The Deep Roads were swarming with darkspawn. They formed an underground sea of corrupted flesh, a thriving horde that left a sickening black taint on everything it touched. Duncan was floating above it, powerless to do anything to stop it. The farther he flew, the more horrified he became, until it was clear that he was witnessing the formation of a massive army. Reeling with disgust and despair, he felt in spite of himself a dragging sensation towards a dark hole near the back, a hole that would not stop calling until it had consumed him entirely…_

Duncan yawned blearily as he trudged through the Wilds the next morning. His dreams that night had made his sleep so restless that he finally decided to just keep watch for the rest of the night. Sensing his fatigue, Radriline had assumed command of the group, blazing a trail through the Wilds that was surprisingly easy to follow.

“Feeling all right, boss?” Eddric muttered as he ducked under a branch.

Duncan shook his head. “The nightmares getting worse.”

“Same here,” Eddric said. “Rad’s said as much, too.”

Duncan grunted. Neither said what they were thinking, but they had both reached the same conclusion on their own. The reports that had rolling in from the south for months now seemed to be true, something they couldn’t have imagined in their worst fears. A Warden’s mind was linked to the darkspawn Taint; nightmares as bad as those could only mean one thing.

“Duncan,” Radriline said sharply from the front of the line. The huntress had drawn her bow, scanning the trees surrounding them. Looking up, Duncan started and drew his blades as well.

Three mangled bodies were pinned by crude swords to the tree in front of them, twisted so unnaturally that they were almost hard to recognize. One’s head had been hacked off; the others were so horribly disfigured that he couldn’t tell what was missing and what wasn’t. Revolting blotches of decayed brown skin were splayed along all three bodies.

“Darkspawn,” Duncan breathed in thrilled horror.

Alistair looked revolted. “Darkspawn did this?”

“It wasn’t the Wilders, that’s for sure,” Eddric said grimly, gripping his war axe. “Do you think they’re still here, boss?”

Duncan turned to answer him. Then the whispers in his mind began to scream, and a flight of arrows flew out of the trees. “ _Cover_!”

The party retreated back as a band of tall, burly hurlocks and squat, stout genlocks began pouring out from the trees, bearing down upon them. Duncan turned around and faced his companions.

“Radriline,” he growled, “into the trees. Ed, concentrate on those hurlocks to the left; I’ll take out the ones by the rock. Alistair,” he said, turning back to the recruit. The boy nodded at him, face pale. Duncan had a vivid flashback to when he had first confronted a darkspawn himself; he reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to prove yourself,” he said.

Without blinking, Duncan leapt up and began running at full speed to the group of darkspawn by the rock. His blades flashing, he slammed into the one nearest him with his shoulder; it staggered back, giving him the opportunity to plunge a sword into its chest. Ripping it back out, he used it to block a swipe from another hurlock, whose stomach he quickly opened with his other sword. He sensed another one behind him and turned to strike it. However, by the time he spun around, one of Radriline’s arrows had found its way into its head. He nodded his thanks before slashing out at a nearby genlock that had been avoiding the wide range of Ed’s swinging war axe.

Meanwhile, Alistair was struggling against his opponent, a genlock of at least half his height. Despite being short and stocky, the creature was surprisingly agile, and it was all the boy could do to keep it from opening up his entrails. Concerned, Duncan began to run over to help him. However, at that moment, Alistair grunted with effort and slashed out exceptionally fast, catching the darkspawn off guard and hacking off its hand. Ignoring its shrieks of pain, Alistair jabbed forward and drove his sword into its head.

“Well done,” Duncan said as the corpse fell to the earth. Alistair started and looked back up at him with wild eyes. Behind them, Eddric felled the last of the hurlocks with a mighty swing from his axe and began crowing. “It’s not every man who can kill a darkspawn by himself, let alone on his first time.”

Alistair stared down at it for a few seconds, breathing heavily. “They’re pretty ugly, aren’t they?”

Duncan laughed grimly. “You haven’t even seen the worst of them.”

“Great,” Alistair said. “Something to look forward to.”

Duncan smiled and turned back to his fellow Wardens. Eddric was covered in blood and looked thrilled to be so; Radriline, however, looked extremely somber.

“Duncan,” she said, “an organized group of darkspawn on the surface? Do you think…?”

He nodded. “We need to get back to the king,” he said. “Ferelden is about to see its first Blight.”

 


	2. Heavy is the Crown

A stream of golden sunlight was seeping in through one of the windows in the throne room, shining directly on the dais that commanded attention towards the back of the gallery. After the long months of a bleak Fereldan winter, most would have welcomed such a lovely sign of the coming spring. Anora, Queen of Ferelden, however, found it made staying awake almost impossible.

“If you flip to page 87, Your Majesties, you’ll see that rust in the sewers is a grave concern as well,” the tiny old official in front of her was droning. “The grates left behind by the Orlesians are in good shape, but anything predating them needs to be replaced. I’ve included a report on just what rusting does and how it progresses – as you can see, after one month it can go as far as…”

The queen’s head nodded slightly before jerking back up again. It wasn’t her fault, really. She had stayed up too late poring over the budget proposals that had been written up for the Crown. Her ministers were expecting a final report in a week, and she needed to make sure everything was perfect before she asked her father for his advice. On any other day, she might have gotten away with it. On Mondays, however, the Crown held court for petitioners, which meant a long day spent listening to never-ending presentations that somehow always seemed to be about sewage.

Her head nodded again, and she sat up abruptly, jolted by the shock of her drooping head. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed. The official was too wrapped up in his presentation, and the rest of the nobility was nodding off as well. Anora straightened her back and tried to look like she was paying attention, letting her mind wander to the budget instead. _Cailan’s asked for too much money for the palace again_ , she thought, tapping her fingers against the arm of her throne. _And I’ll need to convince Father to back down from all this nonsense about a border army for Orlais… Oh, that reminds me, I’ll need to send a birthday gift to Celene, that’s coming up soon, isn’t it…_ The old man was now reading from the packet he had written up for the Crown, pointing to one paragraph in particular. Anora smiled graciously at him and pretended to read along. _Sweet Andraste, this man is far too obsessed with the sewers. What a bleak life passion. Why is it so hot in here? Oh, no, don’t yawn, don’t yawn, don’t yawn… I’ll have to have Erlina get me some tea, otherwise I’m not going to last much longer… How much should we give the City Guard, in the end? If we want to repair the highway we might have to cut their allocation—_

“Your Majesty?” Anora started and looked in front of her; the old official was staring at the dais expectantly, his eyebrows raised. “I hope I’m not boring you?”

“No, of course not,” she said quickly. However, it suddenly became clear that the old man wasn’t talking to her. A light stream of snores was coming from her right. King Cailan was sprawled out on his throne, dead asleep.

“I appear to have lost His Majesty’s interest,” the official said.

Anora smiled warmly, swearing to kill her husband the instant she got a moment alone with him. “Don’t be silly, Master Devon,” she said. “His Majesty is very concerned about the quality of Denerim’s sewers. As you said yourself, the health of our capital depends on the cleanliness of its infrastructure – isn’t that right, _my sweet_?” she growled, nudging the king sharply in the ribs.

Cailan jolted awake, his blond hair falling into his eyes. “Yes!” he said, sitting up straight. “Yes, I agree! It’s bad!” He looked desperately at his wife. “Right? It’s bad, right?”

“Very bad,” Anora agreed firmly. If she concentrated hard enough, she could envision strangling him without breaking her smile for a second. “In fact, I think we’ve heard enough here, don’t you, husband?”

“Yes, I agree,” Cailan said slowly, struggling to figure out what exactly they were talking about. “And…what…should we…do...about…it, dear?”

Anora closed the report on her lap and smiled at Master Devon. “The Crown will take your proposal into consideration, serah,” she said. “The royal budget will be approved in a week’s time, at which point you will be informed of any allocations towards the sewage system.”

“Thank you very much, Your Majesties,” he said, bowing deeply before them. “Maker bless you both.”

Anora inclined her head towards him and turned to Cailan as the next petitioner shuffled forward. “You know, you might as well not show up to these,” she murmured, keeping her face perfectly pleasant. “That way, we might even avoid getting deposed.”

“Please, and deprive the people of this face?” the king joked, jutting out his chin.

She stared at him, unimpressed. “You’d be completely lost without me. You know that, don’t you?”

“Tell myself that every day,” he said, kissing her head. She rolled her eyes and looked away, hoping she wasn’t blushing. Annoying as he could be, Cailan was still the handsome, carefree boy she had fallen in love with. Running his kingdom was a small price to pay for having his heart.

Their next audience, however, pushed all thoughts of love from her mind. A gruff captain of the City Guard had approached the royal couple, warning them of rising tensions within the elven Alienage.

“The elves have been acting unruly lately,” the captain reported. “Several of them are clamoring again for representation at court, and many more are complaining of the lack of food and proper shelter.”

“You’re not saying we’ll need to use force to sort it out?” Anora asked, frowning.

He shrugged. “Maker willing, no. That’s always a possibility with the elves, though.”

Anora sighed. Raids on the Alienage were always senselessly destructive, and that reflected poorly on the crown. Besides, the risks of the fire spreading to the other parts of the city were very great. “Thank you for informing us, serah,” she said. “Let us know if the situation intensifies.” The man nodded and was replaced by a Chantry sister asking for a greater contribution from the Royal Treasury to the restorations being done to the Denerim Cathedral.

The petitions continued to drag on through the morning. While she was still fighting back yawns, the queen could feel herself relax into her position, taking pleasure in finding solutions to other people’s problems. There was something deeply satisfying in being the person the country turned to for leadership, and the more work she had to do the more she felt she was in her element.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we can’t force the dwarves to do anything,” she said finally as the last petitioner laid out her case. “The entrance to Orzammar may lie in Fereldan territory, but the Dwarven kingdom is its own sovereign entity, and our relationship with King Endrin is too tenuous to risk it by getting involved in business schemes. If you wish to strike a deal with them, you’ll have to do it on your own.” As the woman left the room, she leaned back gently against her throne and sighed. Her crown was starting to irritate her skin, and it was all she could do to keep herself from scratching at it. Beside her, Cailan had fallen asleep once more. _Maker give me strength_ , she thought. Turning to her steward, she asked, “Is that all for today, Lord Rathor?”

The old man checked his list and nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty, all the names here have already gone through.”

“Thank the Maker,” she said with relief. “Please dismiss the court.”

Lord Rathor drew himself to full height. “If there are no more issues to be brought before the Crown…”

“I’m afraid I have an issue,” someone said from across the throne room; Anora looked up and raised her eyebrows in shock.

There were three people standing in the massive entrance to the chamber. The farthest left was a short woman with cropped black hair; with the shape of her nose and the color of her eyes, she looked more like an eagle than a woman. Next to her was a simply enormous man, at least seven feet tall with a great mane of hair and a war axe that was larger than most people. In front of them, however, was a familiar face, a man whose dark skin and fine features stood out in the crowd of Fereldan nobles surrounding him. All three wore armor bearing a grey griffin in the center of their breastplates.

“Commander Duncan,” Anora said, trying to keep the note of concern from her voice. “What brings the Grey Wardens to court?”

The black-skinned man stepped forward. “Grave news from the south, I’m afraid, Your Majesty,” Duncan said. “We have reason to believe that Ferelden is facing a new Blight.”

Gasps of shock rippled through the assembled nobles as Anora felt her heart flutter. Ridiculously, she immediately thought of her budget, instantly chucking whole categories off the list. That felt silly, but then suddenly everything did, too. Finding herself at a loss for words, she was relieved to hear someone else take charge.

“What signs?” her father, Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, boomed from his position in the stands on the left side of the throne room. “What gives you the right to say so?”

Anora looked around in relief. Her father was the second most powerful man in the country, a war hero, and her idol. Taller than almost everyone around him, Teyrn Loghain had come to court in a full set of armor, his dark hair falling neatly to his shoulders. His face cold, he walked out of the stands and took his place in front of the dais, making it clear to whom Duncan should be directing his report.

Beside her, Cailan jolted awake with a gasp. “What’d I miss?” he asked stupidly, gazing about the chamber.

Duncan bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said. “Your Grace,” he added, bowing his head to Loghain. “I come bearing grave news of a potential Blight to the south.”

Cailan sat up excitedly. “A Blight?’ he asked with just a little too much enthusiasm. Anora glared at him; she knew exactly what he was thinking. This was his chance to become a great hero-king, the man who rode into battle and saved his people by slaughtering a darkspawn horde. It was what Cailan had dreamed of since he was a child, after all – no matter the terrible cost it would likely mean for his people.

“Sit down, Cailan,” Loghain said sharply. He was the only man in the kingdom who would have dared talk to the monarch like that. “Duncan’s given us no proof of that yet.”

“We do have it, though,” Duncan said, reaching behind his cloak and pulling out a bundle of papers. “These are eyewitness accounts from the south of darkspawn raids on the surface.”

“Which could be forged,” the teyrn said coldly.

Duncan was not finished. “This scroll is the signed word of Bann Loren Oswin, from the Southern Bannorn. He confirms the stories found in those reports and wishes to inform His Majesty that he has sent his wife and son north to Highever to distance them from what he views to be a rising threat.”

Anora’s heart sank as she heard nervous titters ripple through the court. The sealed testament of a noble was not to be treated lightly in Ferelden.

“Well, that settles it, doesn’t it?” Cailan said. “We’ll need to act, won’t we?”

“Quiet, boy,” Loghain said harshly. He looked at Duncan coldly, apparently sizing him up. “None of this means anything,” he said. “We haven’t seen darkspawn on the surface for over 400 years. Unless you pull one of those bastards out of your cloak right now, you’re just spreading panic in my opinion.”

His voice trailed off as Duncan nodded to two men in the back, who walked out into the hall and came back carrying two human-shaped bundles. As they bent down to open them, Anora suddenly turned her head to look away. She knew what was inside, and she had no desire to see them for herself.

There was a collective gasp as the bags opened, and she could only imagine what everyone else was seeing. The old legends always painted darkspawn as twisted ghouls with mottled skin and distorted bodies; the old records painted them as looking far worse. Cailan sounded as if he was going to retch beside her. She was glad to not have looked.

 “How fresh are these kills?” Loghain’s voice seemed miles away, strangely detached from his body.

“As fresh as could be,” Duncan responded. “They were killed in the Wilds three weeks ago.”

Loghain grunted. “Were they by themselves?”

“No. There was a band of about sixteen. They showed more organization than I’ve seen in sixteen years of leading the Grey Wardens.”

Loghain cursed under his breath. “And other bands like this have been sighted?”

“Yes,” Duncan said. “And larger. Personally, I think they might be scouts for the Archdemon’s horde.”

Anora started and suddenly found her voice. “You’ve seen an Archdemon?”

“No.” Duncan paused. “Perhaps I’ve spoken too soon. However, with what we’ve been seen, I believe it’s only a matter of time before…”

“Before what?” she demanded, her heart in her throat.

“Before an Archdemon _is_ sighted, Your Majesty,” Duncan said. “Before the Fifth Blight is declared.”

Loghain sighed deeply, and Anora looked over at him in horror. The grim expression on his face was more frightening than anything Duncan had just said. “Gentlemen,” she said, rising to her feet. “What should we do?”

 Her father spat, and just like that Anora knew that everything in her life was about to be flipped on its end. “What else can we do?” he said. “We must get ready for war.” 


	3. The Circle Tower

Teaching apprentices at the Circle Tower was a thankless job, everyone knew that. Full of hormones, insecurities, and raw power, adolescent mages were more likely to set themselves on fire than accomplish anything of use, and if you weren’t careful you were likely to get yourself caught on fire, too. The fact that Senior Enchanter Leorah had survived in the position for over two decades was a testament to her strength of character.

That strength, however, had been greatly tested over the past few years. “Jowan! Eruestan!” she yelled at the door to the Apprentice Library. “My office! Now!”

Eruestan Surana winced and set down his quill. “Maker’s breath,” he moaned, dread already pooling in his stomach. “Not again.”

“I know, right?” his friend said next to him, staring at the penis he had scrawled on his writing desk with his own quill. “You were almost done with my report on healing salves and everything!”

Eruestan glared at him and closed the book he had been consulting. “Jowan, please don’t act shocked. You know what this is about.”

Jowan stood up, brushing his greasy hair out of his face. Normally his friend held his hair back in a ponytail, but lately he had taken to wearing it loose, which Eruestan thought made him look even stupider than usual. “You need to relax more,” he said as Eruestan stood up next to him. “You’re gonna give yourself an ulcer, and that’ll be one more thing for Leorah to yell at you about.”

“She wouldn’t need to yell at him if you would stop copying his homework all the time,” a curly-haired mage sitting across from them snapped.

“I do not copy Eruestan’s homework, Rona,” Jowan said. “I have him do it for me, it’s completely different.”

She made a rude gesture at him. “Bite me, Grease Face.”

“Whatever, Horse Mouth.” He started to walk out of the library; Eruestan mouthed an apology to Rona and followed behind him. “So, what do you think it is today?” he asked, stepping into the hallway. “The demonology report or those cage spell diagrams we were supposed to turn in?”

“You’ve got to start doing your own homework, Jowan,” Eruestan said. His heart was starting to feel a little fluttery; he hated being in trouble.

“You’ve been saying that to me for the past six years, I’m not going to get started now. I wouldn’t even know how!” He punched Eruestan playfully on the shoulder. “Besides, you know in the end it’s just more practice for you. You’re the rising star here, anyways! Whereas I’m not going anywhere.”

“Now’s not the time for flattery,” Eruestan said miserably.

Jowan looked at the expression on his face and sighed. “Eruestan, this happens to us at least once a week, you need to get a grip. Besides, what are they going to do us? Kick us out?”

Jowan always said that, and as always it did make Eruestan feel a little better. Mages weren’t allowed to leave the Circle, no matter what the circumstances. Having that kind of reassurance honestly was pretty comforting.

They had arrived at the senior enchanter’s office, a squat archway at the end of the hallway leading to the inner courtyard. The door had been left open; Leorah was already seated at her desk. “After you,” Jowan said, bowing and ushering Eruestan in.

The elf walked in, head bowed, trying to avoid Leorah’s gaze. The senior enchanter was a short elven woman with steely green eyes, the kind that could stare right through your soul. He could feel them boring a hole in his skull as Jowan took his seat, practically heating the air with their rage. They sat in silence for a moment, waiting for the hammer to drop.

Leorah finally cleared her throat. “I’m at my wit’s end, boys.”

“Senior Enchanter, I would just like to say,” Jowan said quickly. “I think it would be very helpful for both Eruestan and myself to know right off the bat whether this is about the demonology report or the cage diagrams.”

“Jowan, you just confessed to both,” Eruestan sighed into his lap.

“He didn’t have to, I already knew about both,” Leorah said. “And for the record, this _is_ about both, because Eruestan wrote both of them for you.”

“Yes!” Jowan said. “Two for one!”

Eruestan risked a glance upwards; Leorah’s teeth were clenched. “I don’t know what to do with you boys,” she said. “I haven’t known for the past six years. Everything I’ve tried has blown up in my face. I’ve tried separating you in the dormitory, I’ve tried putting you in different classes, limiting your time together in the library, and yet Eruestan has always – _always_ – managed to finish your homework for you, Jowan.”

Jowan shrugged. “The kid’s got a gift, what can I say?”

“I’ve put you both on Templar supervision,” she continued. “I’ve had you stay in my office to complete your assignments separately. I’ve even had to send you both to go see the First Enchanter—”

“Please,” Jowan scoffed. “Irving told me to keep doing it.”

“And believe me, I’m still very upset about that,” she said. “Boys, I am out of ideas. I have never run into a pair of apprentices who were more determined to shatter the rules of this Circle and laugh blatantly in my face about it! Tell me, what would you do if you were in my position?”

“Well,” Jowan said, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t know about you, Senior Enchanter, but to _me_ , it _sounds_ like you’re asking us to do your job for you—”

Leorah snapped her fingers. Jowan’s throat made a rasping noise and suddenly he was unable to speak. “You’re just lucky I’m not allowed to keep you that way,” she said sternly. “You’ll stay like for a few hours, you hear me? Maybe it’ll give you some time to reflect on something other than the sound of your own voice.” Jowan jeered at her silently and stood up to leave. Eruestan rose with him, hoping to sneak out without a lecture. “Not you, Eruestan. Stay in your seat.”

He winced and sat back down as Jowan left the room. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re the one I really don’t understand in all this, Eruestan,” she said, folding her hands. “Every time you come in here you look genuinely horrified to have been caught, and yet one week later you’re back for having done the same exact thing.”

“I know,” he said, feeling his face flush. “I don’t understand it myself, Enchanter, I’m really—”

“Don’t finish that thought,” Leorah said. “Jowan’s been sneering at me for six years, and you’ve been telling me you’re sorry. I just cannot figure out what a brilliant student like you is doing with a dunce like that.”

“Jowan’s not a dunce,” Eruestan said. “And it’s just – he’s my friend, Enchanter. He’d do the same thing for me.”

“As if you needed him to,” she said drily. “Friendship is an important thing, Eruestan, and it can make life in the Circle much more tolerable. Still, you should take more care about the friends you make – some of them might hold you back.”

Eruestan hesitated. It wasn’t in his nature to talk back to an enchanter; still, he didn’t like the idea that Jowan was just a bunch of dead weight. “I’ll keep that in mind, Enchanter,” he said, standing up to go.

“Not so fast,” she said quickly, reaching for some papers on her desk. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“Oh?” Eruestan settled back down in his chair, wondering in horror what else Jowan could have possibly gotten him involved in.

Leorah pushed the papers across her desk, revealing that they were the cage diagrams he had submitted for that week’s assignment. “Now, your submission for Jowan, as unethical as it might be, was perfect,” she said, shuffling it to the side. “No surprise there, of course. However, _your_ submission…” She held it out to him so he could take it. “I want you to take this to the First Enchanter,” she said, unable to hide the tone of fondness that was creeping into her voice. “I think I understand what you’ve done here, and I’m sure he’d love to hear what you’ve come up with. He always does.”

It was always hard to tell whenever Leorah was going to pay you a compliment, and as always it caught him off guard. “Oh! Thank you!” he said, trying to adjust to the mood shift. “Are you sure I deserve to be sent up to see Irving?”

She smiled. “Your inability to stand up to Jowan has little to do with your sheer talent, Eruestan. Anyone as clever as you should always have the right to shine.”

He could feel himself blush. “Thank you,” he said, bowing his head. “If you want to punish me as well, though, I completely understand.”

“It wouldn’t change much, would it?” Leorah said. “Besides, what could I do, really? I’d take away your voice, but I feel that’s less of a loss to you than it is to Jowan.”

Eruestan smiled in spite of himself and bowed to her again as he stood up. “Thank you, Enchanter,” he said at the door. “I’m sorry we’re such headaches.”

She shrugged. “Well, not for much longer, at least.” She froze, as if realizing she’d said something she shouldn’t have, and quickly waved him out.

He walked away, slightly confused. Was Leorah going to change positions? Before he could think about it further, Jowan had leaped in front of him out of nowhere.

“You know, I really love it when she does that to you,” Eruestan said as his friend pantomimed to him. “It finally gives me enough peace to think for once.”

Jowan made an obscene gesture and motioned to head back to the library.

“I can’t,” Eruestan said. “Leorah wants me to go see the First Enchanter.”

Jowan rolled his eyes and made an even more obscene gesture.

“Jowan! Gross!” Eruestan looked around quickly to make sure there were no Templars lurking around in the area. “I am not doing _that_ to Irving,” he hissed, his face flushed. “And if you would just do your homework for once, you’d be allowed to go up there and talk to him yourself!” His friend mimed laughing. “Oh, whatever,” Eruestan said. “I’ll talk to you later – provided you _can_ talk.” Jowan made one last rude gesture before turning and walking back to the Apprentice Quarters.

Eruestan sighed and made his way up the nearest staircase. Usually apprentices weren’t allowed above the second floor; the note Leorah had attached to his assignment, however, gave him a clear pass to the First Enchanter’s office. The Circle Tower was built like a giant funnel, and its many twisting hallways and staircases made it feel more like an ant hive than a home for a group of mages. Anyone who didn’t know them could get hopelessly lost without realizing it, doomed to roam the corridors until a mage or a Templar found them first. Eruestan, however, had spent his whole life there, and finding his way through them felt natural. Navigating the halls like an expert, he turned up the narrow staircase leading up to Irving’s office and began scurrying up. The stairs were made of well-worn stone and were very poorly lit, and in his haste he slipped on his apprentice robes, falling forward on his face. “Brilliant,” he muttered, rubbing his smarting palms. That was when he heard the voices drifting down from above.

“No, Irving, absolutely not,” said a gruff voice was booming. Eruestan recognized it as belonging to Greagoir, Knight-Commander of the Templars who guarded the tower and the mages. “I will not allow that many mages out of the tower at one time.”

Eruestan frowned. Mages out of the tower?

“Greagoir, be reasonable,” the First Enchanter replied. “If these reports are true, the king is going to need us to march in full force down south.”

“We’ve already sent enough of our men and women out there,” Greagoir said. “They can make do with what they’ve got.”

Irving tsked. “They’re telling us that they need more! You’ve seen Wynne’s letter! The army needs more of us!”

“Well, I won’t allow it,” Greagoir said. “The risks alone—”

“Risks?” Irving snapped. “By the Maker, Greagoir, they think there’s going to be a Blight! Do you know what we risk if we lose at Ostagar?”

Eruestan froze. No one had said anything to him about any Blight. He thought immediately to everything he had read about them, the terrible accounts of the destruction in Antiva and the Tevinter Imperium. The last Blight had happened over 400 years ago, yet the stories were still terrifying. He had nightmares for weeks the first time he’d heard them.

At that moment, someone tapped on Eruestan’s shoulder. Startled, he jumped around to see a winged helmet staring back at him.

“What are you doing up here, elf?” the Templar snarled.

“Waiting to see the First Enchanter,” Eruestan stammered. He hated when he couldn’t see the Templars’ faces. It made him feel as though he were talking to a statue. “I have something to show him.”

“Is that so?” the man snarled. “ ‘Cause it seems an awful lot like you’re eavesdropping on some important conversations.”

Before Eruestan could say anything further, the door to Irving’s office burst open and Greagoir stalked out. Upon seeing Eruestan, his already deep snarl fell even deeper. “Oh, not you again,” he groaned. “What’d you do this time, learn to shoot lightening from your arse?”

“We mages have many skills, Greagoir, but unfortunately that is not one of them,” Irving said, stepping out onto the landing as well. “Unless, of course, Eruestan _has_ figured out how.”

Eruestan smiled in relief. No one knew how to handle the Templars better than Irving. “Not today, at least, ser.”

“A victory for bottoms everywhere,” Irving said warmly, ushering him into his office. Turning back to Greagoir, his expression became a bit sterner. “The King has given his orders, Greagoir. You’d do best by all of us to follow them.”

The Knight-Commander huffed. “Fine way to get us all killed, I say. This isn’t over, Irving.” He pushed the knight in front of him aside and jogged the short distance down the stairs to the Templar quarters.

Irving closed the door behind him and shook his head. “Oh, that old blowhard,” he said. “What would he do without me?”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, ser,” Eruestan said quickly as the First Enchanter took his seat.

Irving snorted. “Greagoir’s been convinced for years that we’re all planning on murdering him in his sleep. It’d be out of character for him to start listening to me now.”

Sitting down in the chair across from him, Eruestan found himself unable to keep from staring around at the artifacts Irving had lying around his office. The walls were convered in ancient leather-bound books, bizarre skulls, foul-looking potions, exquisitely detailed maps, and odd apparatuses the uses of which Eruestan shuddered to think of. He wondered if even Irving knew where half of the things came from.

“Now, Eruestan, tell me,” Irving said, settling into his seat. His eyes gleamed out from under his bushy white eyebrows, making him look much younger than he was. “What brings you here today? Have you been causing more trouble for Enchanter Leorah?”

“No, ser,” Eruestan said. “Well, yes. But that’s not why she sent me up here.” He slid his diagram across the desk. “Apparently, she thought you’d want to see this.”

He picked it up and skimmed it over. “Jennisor’s Circle,” he said approvingly. “It’s always nice to see Tevinter magic done so well – there’s a certain art to their craft, a joy in magic that we lack in the south. Ah, but wait.” He peered at it more closely and smiled. “It seems you’ve made some modifications.”

Eruestan flushed. “Right, well, we’ve been covering conjuring cages with Leorah for the past few weeks, and as I’m sure you know Jennisor’s Circle is one of the best ones out there. I was reading, though, that one of the problems with Jennisor’s technique is that the energy it uses can kill certain demons before we can get a chance to study them. Then I remembered what you told me once about using Tevinter words in ritual spells, and how sometimes they can cause trouble because the grammar tends to bind them together. Then I got the idea that maybe I didn’t have to use Tevinter. So, I asked myself who the next best spellcasters in Thedas were, and that’s how I decided to try and use a bit of Elvish.” He paused for a moment, mainly to catch his breath. “It was kind of a long shot,” he said quickly. “It seemed like a really good idea at three in the morning in the library.”

Irving appraised it for a moment longer, stroking his beard contemplatively. “Very clever,” he said finally. “Very, very clever. An elegant solution to a problem most full mages wouldn’t know how to address.”

Eruestan blushed. “It was nothing, really. Just took a bit of thinking outside of the box.”

“And a bit outside the rules, eh?” Irving said, winking at him. “I seem to remember Elvish being forbidden to anyone under the rank of mage…”

He reddened even further. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s a stupid rule that I hate to enforce.” Irving smiled. “Well done again, Eruestan. You’ve been impressing us ever since you first came in as a small boy. There isn’t a single thing you’ve been unable to do that you’ve put your mind to.”

Eruestan smiled a little ruefully. “I don’t feel like that. My magic seems so much weaker compared to the mages.”

Irving chuckled. “That’s because it is! You’re still an apprentice, after all; stronger magic will come.” The older man settled back in his chair and gave Eruestan an appraising look. “Tell me, have you given any thought on what you plan to do with yourself?”

 Eruestan paused. “What do you mean, ser?”

 “You’ll be a mage at some point,” the First Enchanter said. “Do you have any idea what you want to do once you reach that point?”

“I…I don’t,” Eruestan admitted. “I haven’t given it much thought, to be honest.”

“There’s a whole range of duties you could perform,” Irving said. “Unfortunately, most of them will of course keep you stuck in the Tower.”

“Oh, I don’t mind about that,” Eruestan said. “I like it here – this is my home. In any case, I guess research would be nice, or teaching. Wherever I’d be most useful.”

“Very noble of you,” Irving said. He leaned back slightly, looking at him with a gaze that made Eruestan feel a little uncomfortable. “I must say, I’m a little shocked. It’s rare to hear an apprentice with your talent say that they like the Tower.”

Eruestan flushed. “It’s true, though,” he said. “There’s so much to learn here, so many resources – and that’s only in the Apprentice Library. I can’t even imagine what the mage libraries look like.”

“Though I imagine you’ve already got a pretty good idea what we have in the Archives,” Irving said dryly. Eruestan smiled. “Well, I’m glad you feel that way. Others are not always so content.”

 Eruestan hesitated. “Well, I guess life here can be a bit…stifling.”

He sighed and stroked his beard. “A mage’s life isn’t easy, Eruestan,” he said slowly. “Our powers are great, that’s true, but they come at a terrible cost.”

“Demonic possession,” Eruestan said grimly. He had spent many sleepless nights as a child worrying about just that, the near constant threat that a demon could reach through his dreams and take over his body, using his magic to wreak havoc on the world.

“Not quite,” Irving replied. Eruestan looked at him quizzically. “To be honest, for a well-trained mage, demons aren’t so much of a threat. No, the cost I’m thinking of is a little less…metaphysical.”

Eruestan frowned. “I don’t understand, ser.”

“Our freedom,” Irving said simply. “We have all the power in the world, and yet we’re locked up in here, always under the eyes of the Chantry and the control of the Templars. It’s not always easy, not be able to use your magic to the fullest. You’ll soon find that it’s more of a curse than you realize.”

It was scandalous speech, the kind that could get a regular mage into huge trouble, and just hearing Irving talk like that was making Eruestan break out in a small sweat. Still, he was the First Enchanter, and if he didn’t talk about it with him he’d be unable to talk about it with anyone else. “So can do we do?” he asked quickly, trying to find his nerve.

Irving shrugged. “Many men and women have asked that question before, and many more will ask it in the future. For now, the only advice I can give is to be patient. The time may come when the Chantry’s grip on us weakens, and we gain the freedom to use our gifts as we choose.”

The elf nodded slowly. “Ser,” he said, “weren’t you debating with the Knight-Commander about sending mages out of the Tower?”

Irving’s eyes twinkled. “So, you were listening to us after all, were you? It’s all right,” he said as Eruestan began to protest, “these walls echo. But yes, we have been sending enchanters down south to the fortress at Ostagar for a week or two now.”

 “Why?” Eruestan asked, frowning. “Is what you said true? Is there really a new Blight?”

The First Enchanter hesitated. “I’d rather not say,” he said. “There’s no need to spread fear throughout the Circle for nothing. Still, it’s a pity we can’t send apprentices, someone with your talents would be…” His voice trailed off as he gave the elf an odd look. “Eruestan, how old are you?”

Eruestan blinked. “Newly eighteen, ser.”

Irving stared at him for a moment. “Hm…yes…well, I’m glad you came to see me. This diagram really is very clever. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, ser,” Eruestan said, confused. He rose from his chair as Irving began stroking his beard. “Should I see myself out?”

 The old man nodded. “Yes…yes, please…”

 Eruestan frowned slightly and walked out of the office. He couldn’t quite tell what it had meant, but something in Irving’s look had bothered him.

Making his way back to the Apprentice Quarters, he stopped in the library to pick up his books before heading to the dormitory. The Templar surveying the hallway had fallen asleep standing up; Eruestan hurried past him, unwilling to be the one to wake him up. The knights always seemed to be a bit on edge, especially when you caught them off guard.

Upon entering the dormitory, he was shocked to find that Jowan wasn’t there. “Don’t tell me he’s decided to be productive,” the elf muttered. “Inara, Rona, have you seen Jowan?” he asked, turning to two apprentices chatting a few bunks down.

 Rona rolled her eyes. “Maker, no. That boy’s such a creep.”

 “Totally,” Inara agreed. “Absolute freak. He once tried to give me a pair of hand-knit knickers.”

  Eruestan sighed; he’d told Jowan not to do that. “In his defense, he does macramé really well.”

 “Like we care,” Inara snapped. “The boy’s a deviant, Eruestan.”

 “I hear he’s a _blood mage_ ,” Rona whispered, as if expecting Jowan to jump up behind her and snap her neck.

 “Right,” Eruestan said, “and he’s got a third elbow sticking out of his back.”

 “Everyone thinks it, Eruestan,” Inara said. “Even the enchanters. Why else do you think he hasn’t been Harrowed yet?”

“I haven’t been Harrowed, either!” Eruestan pointed out.

“You’re still young for a Harrowing, though,” Rona said. “You _just_ turned eighteen. Jowan’s almost twenty. He should have had his ages ago.” She looked over at Inara and sighed. “Look, I’m not saying anything against _you_ , Eruestan. You’re brilliant. Jowan, though…”

“Is a freak,” Inara finished.

Eruestan rolled his eyes and threw his books onto his bunk. The old bed wheezed, long used to taking a beating from all the books he had thrown on top of it throughout his life. “Just leave it, guys, ok?” he muttered. “Jowan’s harmless – the knickers story aside. Besides, he’s not even here to defend himself.”

“Oh, look, speak of the demon,” Rona said, nodding her head at the door. “Guess we said ‘knickers’ too many times.”

“ _Eruestan_!” Jowan ran excitedly into the dormitory. “There you are!”

“Where were you?” the elf asked, frowning. “And how did Leorah’s spell wear off already?”

“Just shut up!” his friend said, practically jumping up and down in front of them. “Have you heard?”

“Are the Templars using your hair to grease their armor?” Rona jabbed. Inara giggled meanly behind her.

“Shut up, you foal,” Jowan said. “There’s going to be a Blight! The king is calling for troops to march down south!”

Inara and Rona both gasped. “What? Where did you hear that?” Eruestan noticed that they both suddenly seemed much more willing to be around Jowan than before.

“In the chapel,” Jowan said smugly. “Two Templars were talking about it over their prayers.”

 “Why were _you_ in the chapel?” Eruestan asked with a frown; however, Rona and Inara jumped forward and cut him off.

  “How many soldiers are being sent down south?”

  “Have they seen an Archdemon?”

  “Is the king going to fight?”

  “Is the king coming here?”

 “Are the Templars leaving?”

 “Are _we_ leaving?”

 A deep tone echoed throughout the Tower, cutting them off. It echoed off the walls of the dormitory before disappearing totally, giving place to the sound of a hundred doors opening and a thousand chairs scuffing throughout the building.

“Oh, look, dinner,” Eruestan said, grabbing Jowan’s arm. “Excuse us, ladies, Jowan and I have to talk about homework.”

“You know, the reason I have you do my homework is so that I don’t actually have to talk about it,” Jowan said grumpily as Eruestan dragged him off to the dining hall. “And if you keep running away from girls, people are going to start thinking that all those rumors are true.”

“There aren’t any rumors about me,” Eruestan said, climbing up the stairs. “And I definitely don’t care what Inara and Rona think.”

“Yeah, I don’t either,” Jowan said casually as they entered the dining hall. “Still, it was nice being the center of attention for a good reason for once. Speaking of which, how blown away was Irving this time around?”

Eruestan took his seat and shrugged. The Apprentice Dining Hall was a large chamber filled with long dining tables, all covered with decent food and pewter tableware. “He was pretty blown away, I guess. Nothing more than usual.”

“Nothing more than usual,” Jowan said, laughing. Eruestan rolled his eyes and took a drink of water. “He says it so casually, everyone. How tiring it must be to be you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Eruestan said, blushing. “It’s not that special.”

“Easy for you to say.” Jowan shrugged and started toying with a piece of bread. “I don’t think you realize how lucky you are. You know what I would do to get half the attention you get from everyone here?” He shook his head and ate the bread. “Not likely to happen, though. Everyone here hates me.”

“That’s not true,” Eruestan said. “I like you fine.”

“Thanks,” Jowan said, smiling. “And actually…could I talk to you after dinner? There’s someone I…Eruestan, are you feeling all right? You look bad.”

 “I’m fine,” the elf lied. In reality, he had suddenly become very dizzy. Trying to calm himself, he shook his head and said, “You were saying?”

  Jowan’s eyebrows were furrowed. “Right, um, there’s someone I really want you to—Maker, what’s the matter with you?”

 Eruestan tried to answer; however, at that moment, he blacked out and swooned onto the table. Jowan jumped up in shock, but no one else in the room seemed very surprised. They had all seen something like that before: the time for Eruestan’s Harrowing had come.  


	4. Harrowed

When Eruestan came to, he was already standing in a very large room that he had never seen before.

The ceiling stretched up into darkness, disappearing into the shadows. Beautiful stained-glass windows lined the walls, depicting mages both at the height of victory and being devoured by demons. He shivered and crossed his arms, blinking slowly as he took in what he was seeing. At the center of the chamber, a large group of people stood around an ancient pedestal that covered in glowing runes. Both Irving and Greagoir stood in front of it, looking extremely somber.

Eruestan felt a slight pang of fear. He didn’t like where this was going.

Greagoir was the first to speak. “Eruestan Surana, what does the Chant of Light say about magic?”

This was the first thing every apprentice learned upon entering the Circle. The answer came to him almost as a reflex. “Magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him.”

Greagoir nodded. “Exactly. Thus spoke Andraste at the height of her power as she fought for the Maker against the dark maleficarum of the Tevinter Imperium.  From that day on, mages and Templars have strived to follow this command, ensuring that all those who practice magic are able to control it.”

“This is why the Harrowing exists,” Irving said. “For centuries, apprentices in Circles all across Thedas have gone through this test. As we have passed it, so shall you.”

His Harrowing. That was what this was all about. Struggling to maintain his composure, Eruestan cleared his throat and asked, “What exactly does this test entail, ser? I’ve never been told…”

“And rightly so,” Greagoir said. “It is forbidden to reveal the secrets of the Harrowing to any apprentice before his or her time should come.”

“Your task is fairly straightforward,” Irving said. “However, by no means is it simple. You are to enter the Fade and kill a demon that lies in wait for you.”

There was silence in the chamber for a moment. “Oh,” Eruestan said finally. “Is that all?”

 Noticing the look of panic on his student’s face, Irving leaned in and said, “Remember, the Fade is merely the realm of dreams. While the dangers you face are real, you are still in control.”

“Irving, the apprentice must complete the task on his own!” Greagoir snapped.

“A bit of advice never hurt anyone, Greagoir,” Irving replied. Turning back to Eruestan, he smiled and said, “Go on, now. Within the pedestal lies pure lyrium. It will take your spirit directly to the Fade.”

Nodding, Eruestan stepped up to the stand, trying his hardest to keep his teeth from chattering. The idea of killing a demon was terrifying. He had only ever been taught how to identify them; no one had ever said a thing about attacking them. Everything already felt a bit like a dream, a terrible dream, the kind you showed up to in your underclothes. The liquid in the pedestal was a bright, pulsing blue, and its intensity was a little terrifying, too. Trying to calm himself, he looked over to see a handsome young Templar standing about four feet away, practically shaking in his armor. There was something oddly soothing about that – the knight looked as scared as Eruestan felt, and that made him feel less alone. Taking a deep breath, Eruestan closed his eyes and stuck his hands in the basin.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, a brilliant shock of energy shot up his arm as a blinding light filled the chamber. When it died away, he had already entered the Fade.

* * *

 

The landscape he found himself was unlike anything he had ever seen before. It looked as though it had been created by a child. Cliffs dangled upside down above him, clouds fell like bricks off in the distance, and the ground he was walking on was swirling around his feet, almost warping around his presence. That felt welcoming, as if the Fade was excited to see him. Everything else, however, w    as not. He was standing on what appeared to be a natural bridge that led nowhere, jutting out into an empty, infinite void that was filled with glowing green light. With a jolt, he noticed a small, black dot floating on its own far away from him. It had to be the Black City, the former home of the Maker that had been destroyed when Imperium mages had tried to enter it.

“Well, shit,” he muttered.

Unsure of how to start, he turned around and began to make his way back down the bridge to the land mass below. His footsteps echoed in the nothingness, somehow bouncing back to his ears. For as much movement as there was around him, he seemed to be the only sentient being for as far as he could see.

 _This is odd_ , he thought, looking around. _Irving made it sound like the demon would be waiting to meet me. Where is every—_

At that moment the ground collapsed beneath him. With a cry, he flung himself forward and grabbed onto the nearest ledge, his feet flailing out behind him in the void. He was no longer falling, but his arms weren’t moving. His hands had sunk into the earth, plunged up to their elbows as if the ledge were made of sand. Struggling to pull his right arm out of the earth, he was finally able to wrench forward with a burst of strength and pull himself back on solid land.

Eruestan took a deep breath and lay his head on the ground, trying to calm his heart rate. The grass around him was swirling again, although it admittedly felt much less comforting now than it had before. Suddenly, a bolt of energy exploded next to his ear. Jumping in fright, he managed to climb to his feet as another bolt of energy aimed for his head, leaving a black scorch mark where he had been lying. Looking around wildly, he saw where they were coming from: a small ball of light floating just above him.

“Oh,” he said in relief. “It’s just a wisp.” They had studied wisps several years ago. They were balls of built-up energy that roamed the Fade, belching power and being a general nuisance. It was fascinating seeing one in real life; Eruestan would have loved to sit down and take some notes. However, at that point, the wisp glowed brightly again and zapped another bolt of energy at him. Taking the hint, he waved his hands, and with a _blip_ the wisp vanished into nothing.

He didn’t have long to relax, however. Out of nowhere, a sickly-looking fern lying next to him attempted to strangle him.

“Maker’s breath!” He sent a small ball of fire flying at it, making it run shrieking away. He stood panting by himself for a moment, looking around frantically for anything else that might attack. “Is there anything here that doesn’t want to kill me?”

“Not really,” the rock next to him responded.

Eruestan yelped and jumped back. That was it, he was losing his mind. “What is going on?” he said in a half-panic. “The rocks can talk here, too?”

The voice scoffed. “Don’t be silly. That’s ridiculous.” A small mouse skittered out from behind the rock and looked up at him expectantly. “I’m down here.”

Eruestan stared at it. “You’re a talking mouse.”

“Am I really?” it said, sounding slightly irritated. “I had no idea.”

“Sorry,” Eruestan said, a little embarrassed. Maybe it was rude to say that to someone you just met in the Fade.  “I just wasn’t expecting something like you, that’s all.”

“Oh, believe me, there’s a lot of stuff here you’re not expecting,” the mouse said. “They never really prepare us for what we find.”

“Us?” Eruestan asked. “What do you mean?”

There was a flash of light, and all of a sudden a scrawny young man wearing apprentice robes was standing in front of him. “First lesson of the Fade: never trust first impressions,” he said, holding his hand out. His voice echoed in the air around them, warping and blending into the void that surrounding them. “You can call me Mouse.”

 Slightly stunned, Eruestan shook his hand. It was cold and clammy in his hand, like something held in water for too long. “I’m Eruestan,” he said. “I take it Mouse isn’t your real name?”

 Mouse shrugged. “It might have been. It’s been so long, I can’t remember.”

 Eruestan frowned. “What do you mean? How long have you been here?”

“Decades, at least.” He sounded bitter, which, given the circumstances, was understandable. “I was too frightened during my own Harrowing and I took too long to finish it. The Templars assumed that meant I failed, and so they killed me back in the mortal world. Now I’m trapped here.” He gave Eruestan a dark look. “They didn’t tell you that, did they? They didn’t mention the time limit.”

The day was getting better and better. “No, not really.”

“Figures,” Mouse spat. “They never want us mages to succeed. They’re more than willing to kill us all.”

It was hard to argue with his logic when everything else seemed eager to kill Eruestan, too. “Well, in that case, Mouse, it was nice meeting you, but I should get moving,” he said, fighting back the surge of panic that had built up in his stomach. “I really don’t have any time to waste.”

“What are you going to do?” Mouse asked sharply. “You’re going to fight a demon, just like that? Do you have any idea how?”

“Well,” Eruestan said, trying to sound confident, “no, but I’m sure I can—”

Mouse was looking at his nails. “Hey, maybe you’ll like getting torn apart by demons,” he said. “Different strokes for different folks, am I right?”

Eruestan winced. “Is it that bad?”

Mouse shrugged. “Well, look. The demon they chose for you is a powerful spirit, and all I’m saying is you may not have the skills to defeat it. Which is typical of them, really. The Circle loves setting us up to fail.”

Eruestan bit his lip. It seemed silly to question advice coming from someone who had spent so much time in the Fade, and if Mouse had survived that long then he had to know what he was talking about. Still, it didn’t seem right to him that Irving would lead so many mages to their doom, even if it was a Chantry practice. Besides, hadn’t he seen loads of people come back from their Harrowings? “I mean, there’s got to be a way, right?” he said, drumming his fingers on his arm. “They wouldn’t just throw me in here to die, would they?”

“Oh, they would,” Mouse said. “They do it all the time.”

“No, Mouse, that can’t be right,” Eruestan said, shaking his head. “I mean, are there any skills I can learn here? Any new spells?”

The mage looked at him craftily. “You’re saying you want more power?”

“If it can help me fight demons and, you know, live, then yes,” Eruestan said. “Very much so.”

Mouse was looking at him appraisingly, and Eruestan could feel himself getting more and more impatient. After all, who knew how time worked in the Fade? Maybe he had taken too long already. “All right, then,” Mouse said. “I guess we could try and see if the other spirits here want to help teach you how to fight.”

“Oh, that sounds a lot better,” Eruestan said in relief. In his experience, there was nothing that couldn’t be solved if a good teacher was nearby. “Can you take me to them?”

“Yeah, if you want,” he said. “I have to warn you, though, most of them aren’t very pleasant.”

“That seems to be the theme around here,” Eruestan said. He realized that that could be taken as being a bit rude. “You seem all right, though.”

Mouse shrugged again. “That’s just because I haven’t chewed through your socks yet. Follow me.” He then turned back into a mouse and began scurrying up a hill. Eruestan ran after him, struggling not to lose him in the tall grass that had suddenly begun sprouting up around them.

The Fadescape changed around them as they climbed up the hill, the sky erupting in bright flashes of orange and purple. Flowers were blossoming around him in the grass, each pouring out heavy, intoxicating scents he had not smelled for years: freshly baked bread and winter lilies, the perfume of the rolling seas… “Don’t bend down,” Mouse said suddenly after Eruestan had paused to enjoy the flowers. “If you’re lucky, most of them will just want to strangle you.”

Eruestan grimaced and hurried along, not eager to find out what would happen if he wasn’t lucky.

As they reached the top of the hill, he could suddenly hear the sound of metal clanging on metal, echoing like claps of thunder in the emptiness of the Fade. “What’s that?” he yelled to Mouse, straining to make his voice heard over the clamor. “It’s not the demon, is it?”

“That’s someone who can help,” Mouse yelled back. “Just be careful, he doesn’t like weakness.”

Eruestan frowned and looked down at his body, which had, if possible, negative muscle mass. “Does personal strength count?” he yelled. Mouse, however, had already run over the crest of the hill. Cursing to himself, Eruestan followed after him, trying to puff out his chest as much as he could without looking ridiculous. The clanging and banging grew louder and louder, until he had to cover his ears before he could go much further.

He stopped at the hill’s crest, taking in what he had just stumbled upon. They had apparently walked into some sort of open-air blacksmith shop: racks of weapons and armor were scattered around the hilltop, and a sign written in a language he couldn’t read seemed to be advocating a very strong anti-wisp policy, from what he could gather from the pictures. At the center of the hill was a tall, shirtless man who was hammering a sword on an anvil jutting out of the ground, muscles flexing and glistening with sweat. Eruestan blinked and immediately tried to not focus too much on the spirit’s chest. That being said, there was no denying that they didn’t have anything like that back up in the Tower.

“Erm…hello!” he called out, trying to get the man’s attention while keeping his eyes respectfully in the air. In the thundering chaos of the forge, however, the man didn’t hear him. “ _Excuse me_?” Still nothing. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to him and tapped him on his well-defined shoulder.

“ _Ahhhhhhhhh_!” The spirit was screaming, wrenching the sword off the anvil and swinging it towards Eruestan’s chest. With a yelp, the elf ducked out of the way and hopped about three feet back. The spirit ran up to him, its sword raised high. “ _Who are you_?” it demanded, pointing the blade at Eruestan’s head.

“I’m Eruestan!” he gasped, hands in the air. “From the Circle Tower! Please don’t kill me!”

 “Ah,” the man said, laying down the sword. “A mortal. How interesting.”

Heart still pounding, Eruestan looked warily at the man standing before him. He was tall, taller than anyone he had ever seen, and for some reason Eruestan was having trouble looking at his face. However, this made it all the easier to focus on the spirit’s exquisitely sculpted torso. Somehow just looking at him made Eruestan feel better, as if everything had gotten just a tad less awful. “Who are _you_?” he asked.

The man puffed himself up. “I am Valor, the spirit of heroes,” he said proudly. His voice echoed oddly, as if he were speaking to Eruestan from inside a metal helmet.

“Oh,” Eruestan said, unsure of how to talk to a character trait. “Um, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Valor said, turning back to its anvil. The sword it was creating was at least twice Eruestan’s size, yet looked like a toy in the spirit’s grip. “I imagine you have come to face the demon?”

“Yes,” the elf replied. “You wouldn’t happen to be able to help me with that, would you?”

Valor stopped hammering and grinned. “Yes, I may be able to help you,” it said. “As you can see, I have many weapons that could be of great service to you.”

Eruestan smiled broadly. “Wonderful! Thank you so—”

Valor held up a hand. “There is one condition. If you want my assistance, you must prove your own valor by besting me in a fight.”

Eruestan stared at him for a moment, not sure he had heard correctly. “Come again?”

“It’s simple,” the spirit said. “Defeat me in man-to-man combat, and you can have a weapon of your choosing.”

Of all the insane things he’d had to swallow in the past few minutes, this one took the cake. “You can’t be serious,” Eruestan said. “You want me to fight you?” Valor nodded. “Sorry, let me rephrase that – you want _me_ to fight _you_? Have you seen how much bigger you are than me?”

“You are remarkably small, that is true,” Valor admitted. “But my weapons can only be carried by those that hold courage in their hearts, and a duel is the only way I can prove that.”

Eruestan still wasn’t buying it. “You’re the embodiment of bravery! I’m an apprentice mage!”

Valor crossed its arms, flexing muscles that were bigger than Eruestan’s legs. “You will have to fight the demon, won’t you? How can you face him if you cannot face me?”

“That’s true...” He looked down at Mouse, who was hiding behind his leg. “I don’t know, what do you think? Is it worth it?”

“Don’t look at me!” the mouse hissed. “I’m staying out of this one!” He then scurried behind the nearest rock.

“That’s what I get for befriending a rodent,” Eruestan muttered. He should have been more panicked. Something about being there, however, and standing next to Valor was making him suddenly feel as though he now stood a chance. Running a hand through his hair, he looked back up at the spirit and asked, “Is it possible to defeat the demon without a weapon?”

“Possible, yes,” Valor replied. “Likely? No.”

“Of course not.” Eruestan sighed. He weighed his options, aware of a surge of confidence building in his chest. If he survived this, he would have a much better chance at winning his fight with the demon. If he didn’t…well, the demon would have probably killed him anyways, then.

“All right,” he said. “All right, Valor. I accept your challenge.”

“Excellent.” All of a sudden, the two of them were facing each other down in an empty field, miles away from the hill they had been standing on. Valor was wearing a full suit of armor; Eruestan was not. The elf suddenly felt he had made a huge mistake.

At the other end of the field, Valor had raised its sword in salute. Feeling exceptionally stupid, Eruestan raised his right hand in response. “ _To the end_!” Valor bellowed. With that, it began charging down the field.

For a moment, Eruestan just stood there with his eyes wide. No part of his training had included anything like this. Valor was moving incredibly fast, stretching the Fade around it as it advanced through the clearing. Its sword was flashing brightly in its hand, sharp enough to cut through the Fade. Eruestan should have been panicking, but everything was happening too fast for that. Valor had almost reached him; its sword had become transparent as it distorted the Fade, making it look a bit like an icicle. Eruestan held out his hand without thinking. An instant later, an ice spike shot out from his palm, embedding itself right in Valor’s face.

They were immediately back at Valor’s forge.

“Impressive,” Valor said, returning to its work as though a block of ice hadn’t just been sticking out of its skull. “Most mages let me cut them once or twice before they even think to use their magic.”

“Yes, well, I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” Eruestan said. His body was racing with adrenaline – he had just killed someone! And that person was complimenting him on it! “Could I have my weapon, please?”

Valor turned around. The sword it had been forging had mysteriously turned into a staff. “Take this,” it said. “It will help you greatly in the fight to come.”

“Thank you,” Eruestan said, grabbing it. The staff was delicately carved and felt sturdy in his grip. Despite being in a dream realm, its wood felt real, alive, even. Holding it made him feel considerably braver. “Is there anything else I need to defeat the demon?”

 “Courage, my friend,” Valor said proudly. “Courage and valor.”

“Right,” Eruestan said, taking that in. “That’s true, but I was actually thinking you might have, like, armor or something or…Never mind,” he said hurriedly as the spirit frowned. “I’ll…fight it with bravery…I guess…”

As he turned around, Mouse scurried out from behind the rock he had chosen and turned back into a human. “You were brilliant!” he squeaked. “I’ve never seen someone defeat Valor so quickly!”

“Ah, well, you know,” Eruestan said, blushing. “I got lucky, that’s all.”

“That’s not luck,” Mouse said, shaking his head. “You’re an amazing mage!”

Eruestan grinned sheepishly and shrugged. It was always nice to get a bit of validation, even if it did come from a dead man who preferred living as a mouse. Clearing his throat, Eruestan looked around and said, “All right, where should we head to now?”

“I have one other spirit in mind who might be able to help,” Mouse said. “He’s really dangerous, though, so be careful.”

“Well, it can’t hurt to see what it has to say,” Eruestan said, feeling emboldened by his fight with Valor. “Lead the way, Mouse.”

Mouse transformed back into a rodent and began taking him down the other side of the hill. They had a magnificent view of the Fade from where they walked, and Eruestan had to take a moment to admire how the light danced and changed colors in the shimmering of the great void. To his surprise, even though they had changed directions and location, the Black City was still floating in front of them in the distance, a constant mark on the horizon. “It’s beautiful,” he breathed, forgetting for a moment that his life was in danger.

“Yeah, well, unless you want to spend the rest of existence saying that, you better hurry up,” Mouse said. “I don’t think you have much time left.”

They began to descend into a rugged valley, where the mountainsides glimmered and shone like glass. Just as Eruestan was beginning to admire them, Mouse stopped suddenly and groaned. “We can’t go this way, look,” he said. Eruestan gazed ahead to see a cluster of wisps floating on the path in front of them.

He ran his hand along his staff. “I wonder…” Drawing in his breath, he swiped out with his staff, sending out a wall of energy in front of them. It crashed into the wisps, destroying them in a display of light that sparkled on the glass canyon.

Mouse transformed into his human form right beside him. “Whoa,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were _that_ good.”

“I didn’t, either,” Eruestan murmured in wonder.

“It feels great, doesn’t it?” Mouse said. “Being able to use all that power?”

“It does,” Eruestan admitted, feeling his staff vibrate in his hands. “It feels wonderful, actually.”

“That’s the problem with the Chantry,” Mouse said quietly. “They’re too afraid of us to see how much potential we have. They just want to hole us up and never let us see the light of day.”

Eruestan frowned. “I guess that’s…” He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Come on. Let’s keep moving.”

The two of them descended further down the valley, both keeping an eye out for any more wisps. The further down they went, the uglier the valley became. The glass started to disappear and turn into plain gray rock, and even the void around them started to turn dull and brown. Bizarrely, Eruestan found himself getting more and more tired the farther he advanced. “Don’t worry,” Mouse said when he complained of this. “That just means we’re almost there.”

Confused, Eruestan opened his mouth to say something…then gasped in horror when he saw what lay beyond the next corner.

It looked like a bear. Or at least, it would have, had bears been fifteen feet tall with horns sticking out of every inch of their bodies. Its matted fur was clotted with dirt and blood, and an odd sort of steaming haze was pouring out of its mouth and nose. Mercifully, the creature seemed to be asleep, huddled in a corner and snoring loudly.

“You brought me to a sloth demon?” Eruestan hissed at Mouse. “Seriously? How is this a better option?”

“Easy, easy,” Mouse murmured. “There’s no need to overreact. I think it might help you out.”

“No, it won’t!” Eruestan said. “I don’t know how long it’s been since you were last at the Tower, but I’m pretty sure you know that ‘don’t trust demons’ is really high on their priority list! We’re getting out of here – I’ll face the other demon as it is now, all right?” Mouse rolled his eyes and shrugged, beginning to back away from the lair. However, at that moment, he happened to trip loudly over a stone on the path.

Eruestan froze as the demon snorted and lazily began to stir. With a quick squeak, Mouse immediately turned back into a rodent and tried to hide. “Well, well,” the demon said, opening one yellow eye at a time. “Dinner and a snack. My lucky day.”

For a moment, Eruestan couldn’t speak. Demons had been the monsters that had haunted his childhood, and now here one was, right in front of him for the first time. Heart racing, he squeezed Valor’s staff and felt a small surge of bravery flow down his arms into his heart. _Don’t give up just yet_ , he thought, taking a deep breath. “Hello,” he said, trying to sound firm yet non-threatening. “Sorry to bother you. I was looking for another demon, we’ll just be on our way—”

“Now, now, wait a minute.” The sloth demon’s voice was deep and dreamy, like a lullaby coming out of the shadows. It smiled at him, revealing a full set of jagged teeth. “That sounds like an awful lot of effort. Why go to all that trouble, when you can just let me kill you in the end? I’d make it _so_ much nicer – all you’d do is fall asleep, and then everyone would be happy…”

The air around Eruestan was getting heavy, and for a second his eyelids began to droop. Suddenly, the staff in his hands shocked him, jolting him awake. “Stop that,” he said sharply, his voice cracking slightly in fear. “We came here by mistake. Leave us alone!”

The demon, however, had clambered to its feet, glaring at both of them with hungry eyes. “So you’re going to make me work for it, are you?” it snarled, flaring out the spikes around its neck. “You’ll pay for this, mortal – _you will lie down to sleep_!”

The bear rose on its haunches, roaring into the Fade, and then swiped down at Eruestan with viciously-sharp claws. With barely enough time to think, the elf slammed his staff in front of him. Immediately, a wall of glowing energy blasted out in front of him, knocking the bear on its back and blowing Eruestan’s hair back.

Eruestan stood for a moment as the light from his spell faded, clutching his staff tightly to draw as much courage as possible. The sloth demon had curled back up in its corner, snoring loudly again.

Mouse transformed back into a human. “Wow,” he said.

“I know,” Eruestan said weakly. “I can’t believe that worked.”

The two of them snuck silently backwards, taking care not to step on anything that might wake the demon again. The farther they withdrew from the demon’s lair, the more energy started coursing through Eruestan’s body, and suddenly he no longer felt afraid. If a sloth demon had been made to back down that easily, maybe the one he would have to fight would be the same. “That felt really good,” he admitted as they walked out of the valley. “I think I might stand a chance here.”

“You would have had a better chance if you had listened to me,” Mouse griped, glaring at him. “If you had tried to work with the demon, you might have had another tool to help you fight.”

Eruestan shook his head, more and more sure he had made the right decision. “It’s never a good idea to make a deal with a demon,” he said firmly. “Mouse, do you know where my demon is? I think I’m ready to face it.”

“Are you sure?” Mouse asked. “You might want to get help from some other spirits.”

“No,” Eruestan said. He had an idea what kind of things Mouse wanted him to get into, and there was no time to entertain any of that. “Please, take me where I need to go.”

His friend shrugged. “All right – I’m telling you now, though, once things get hot I’m out. I’ve seen this demon kill enough apprentices to know that I don’t want to stick around after he’s done.”

Something about that sounded odd to Eruestan; the spirit had already turned back into a mouse, however, and it was too late to ask any questions. Eruestan began following him up another hill, reviewing all the combative spells he had learned in fourteen years of education. _You can do this_ , he thought, leaning on his staff. _Stand your ground._

As they climbed higher, however, he began to get unnaturally warm, as if he was seated too close to a fire. “Is it just me, or is it getting a bit hot?” he called ahead, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Mouse squeaked and began running around his feet. “And this is where I leave you,” he said, standing on his back legs. “The demon’s at the top of the hill – it was nice knowing you, Eruestan.”

Before the elf could say anything in reply, the mouse had vanished back down the hill, burying himself in the grass. Now alone, Eruestan decided to press forward, hoping he still had enough time to finish his test.

The air near the top of the hill was uncomfortably hot, almost enough to make him shy away. The Fade was now flashing an angry red, and the ground below him was scorched and ashy, as if someone had set fire to the earth. Eruestan stood alone for a moment, tears streaming down his cheeks from the heat. “I’m here, demon!” he yelled, holding a hand over his face. “Let’s end this!”

There was a flash of light and a surge of heat, and then a column of fire appeared before him. Eruestan took a step back and gripped his staff, pointing it at the flames. A beast was slowly beginning to take shape within them. It had the body of man with the head of a lion and the legs of a goat, and when it saw him it roared, sending a cone of flames shooting into the sky. “Mortal,” it roared, its voice cracking like embers. “You will _burn_!”

It was a rage demon. Eruestan almost felt relieved. He raised up his staff and slammed it once into the ground, quickly going over everything he had ever learned about them. “We’ll see about that,” he yelled, trying to think of the coldest he had ever been. “ _Gelidus_!”

He had thrown up the wall of ice at just the right moment. The demon’s blast of fire crashed against his barrier, sending a wave of brutally hot air crashing into his face. With a howl, the demon stamped one of its cloven feet and circled the hilltop with tall flames. Eruestan, however, slashed out with Valor’s staff and sent a wave of freezing cold air crashing into the rage demon, encasing it in ice.

The flames disappeared, and the heat immediately vanished. Eruestan walked up to the ice statue, a perfect copy of the demon with just a faint, flickering spark lying where its heart should have been. “ _Frango_ ,” the elf said coldly.

The ice statue shattered into a thousand pieces, and suddenly he was standing back where he had started, at the base of the floating bridge. Mouse was next to him, practically bouncing in excitement. “You did it!” he cheered, grabbing his arm. “You killed it!”

Eruestan smiled, still in too combative a mood to feel relieved. “Is that really it?” he asked, leaning on his staff. “Is it all over? It was all so easy…”

“Yes, of course!” Mouse said. “Eruestan, you’re an amazing mage! The best I’ve ever seen!”

Eruestan furrowed his eyebrows slightly, remembering what Mouse had said back at the valley. “You’ve seen a lot of us come and go, though, haven’t you?” he asked.

Mouse looked over at him, clearly confused. “Yes, of course,” he said. “I’ve already told you that.”

“And how many of us did you try to get to work with demons?” Eruestan asked. A strange feeling had settled in his stomach, almost as if he were dangling over a ledge.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help people make it out of here,” Mouse said defensively. “No one was able to do that for me, do you remember that? And don’t forget that most mages would have needed that demon’s help – you’re just more gifted than them, that’s all.”

“Why am I still here?” Eruestan said suddenly. “Shouldn’t I be back now? Isn’t it all over?”

“Eruestan, wait,” Mouse said, clutching his arm. “Maybe this is my chance.”

A chill went down Eruestan’s spine. “Your chance?”

Mouse nodded. “You’ve got the strongest magic I’ve ever seen – you can save me! Take me with you when you go back – I can get my life back! I can be a mage again!”

Eruestan suddenly understood what was happening. A sense of dread bubbling in his stomach, he brushed off Mouse’s arm and took a step back. “Stay away from me, Mouse,” he said, pointing his staff at him. “I think I know what the real test here is.”

“What are you…” Mouse stopped mid-sentence and smiled. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped several octaves. “I told you when we first met,” he rumbled. “Never trust first impressions.” As he spoke, his body began to grow, muscles rippling over his arms and shoulders as a set of horns grew out of his head. His skin turned blue and his eyes went black, and suddenly he was towering over Eruestan, tall as a mountain.

Eruestan stared numbly at the Pride demon, fully aware that he was practically powerless to stop it. “Demon,” he stammered, clutching his staff, “prepare…prepare to…”

It chuckled. “Foolish little mortal.” Then, it lifted its foot and smashed it on his head, and all Eruestan could see was white.  


	5. Blood Runs Thicker

“ _Eruestan…Eruestan…_ ”

He shifted slightly and opened his eyes. Jowan was staring right at him.

“ _Ahh_!” Eruestan sat up and looked around wildly. He was back in his bunk in the Apprentice Quarters, still wearing his day robes. Sunlight was streaming in from the windows, and everyone in the dormitory was crowded around him.

“ _He’s awake_!” someone screamed. Within seconds, every apprentice at the Fereldan Circle Tower had swarmed him, shouting and cheering. He drew his knees up to his chest and looked around, completely bewildered. Most people only came up to him if they needed help on their homework; now, however, they were treating him like some sort of god.

“Well done, Eruestan!” someone he’d never spoken to said, clapping him on the back.

“Fastest Harrowing they’d ever seen!” Harris, a boy who used to make fun of him for being an elf, was yelling to people in the back.

“What was it like?” Inara asked, perched at the foot of his bed. “It had to be terrifying, right?”

“Did you really kill a Pride Demon?” Rona said, peering into his face.

“All right, all right, back off, everyone!” Jowan shouted, waving his arms about. “Give the man some air!” The rest of the apprentices formed a circle around Eruestan’s bunk, all staring at him with mixed looks of awe and glee.

“I’m sorry,” Eruestan said, wondering if he was still dreaming. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”

“Eruestan, you did it!” Jowan said. “You passed!”

He waited for someone to fill him in further. “Passed what?”

The crowd burst into laughter. Jowan smiled and said, “Your Harrowing! Faster than any other mage in the Tower, too! That Templar Cullen said you were absolutely brilliant!”

His Harrowing… He had a vague memory of a bunch of glowing light and a talking rat, but that was about it. Now that he thought about it, his entire body was throbbing in pain, and he had a massive headache. “I feel a little sick,” he muttered to Jowan. “Can you…?”

Jowan nodded and turned to the others. “That’s enough for now, you lot,” Jowan said, crossing his arms. “Go on, scatter – you can get your autographs later.”

The other apprentices left looking slightly disappointed, either heading back to their bunks or leaving the room entirely. Eruestan smiled weakly at Jowan and leaned back against his pillow. “I feel like shite,” he said, clutching his forehead. “My whole body feels weak.”

“Irving said that might happen,” Jowan said eagerly, sitting down at the edge of his bed. “He brought you down here himself last night. All of the enchanters are really impressed with you – not like that’s anything new, though.” He looked around the room and dropped his head. “So, what was it like?” he whispered. “I know you’re not allowed to say anything, but do you have any hints?”

Eruestan screwed up his face and tried to remember what happened. “I honestly don’t know,” he confessed. “All I can remember is this really bright light – and that’s it. I’m sorry,” he said, looking at Jowan’s face. “I wish I could tell you more.”

Jowan looked at him a little oddly. “It’s all right, I guess,” he sniffed, straightening his back. “I know it’s against the rules, I just thought you might want to help.”

Eruestan groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Jowan, I’ve been doing your homework since I was twelve, if I tell you I don’t remember, I mean it.” He felt a little nauseous; he pressed his head into his knees and breathed deeply. “How long am I supposed to feel like this?”

“Not much longer, according to Leorah,” Jowan said a little more warmly. “Once you do feel better, by the way…” He brought his face closer and whispered even more quietly, “About that thing I was saying last night…If you get a chance, I really need to--”

“I am here for Eruestan Surana,” a flat voice rang out in the dormitory. They both looked up to see a tall bald man with an expressionless face standing at the doorway. “Where is Eruestan Surana?”

Eruestan grimaced and raised his hand. “I’m here,” he said.

The man nodded at him. “Follow me, please.” He then turned around abruptly and began walking back down the corridor, not waiting for Eruestan to join him.

“Maker’s breath!” Eruestan said, standing up. His stomach lurched, and he had to grab his bed frame for a moment. “What’s the matter with this guy?”

“Real friendly type, it seems,” Jowan said. He looked annoyed, although it didn’t seem Eruestan would have the time to find out why. “Find me when you get some free time!”

“Will do!” Eruestan shouted as he raced out of the dormitory. There was a little bit of bile coming up at the back of his throat as he ran, but he clenched his teeth and sped up down the hall after the bald man. Dodging past a few apprentices, all of whom reached out to congratulate him, he finally caught up with him at the stairs to the second floor.

“Excuse me,” Eruestan panted. “Ser?” The man didn’t respond. “Hello? Ser? Ser!” With that he reached forward and tapped on the man’s shoulder.

The bald man stopped and slowly turned around. “Yes?” he asked emotionlessly, his face flat. It was then that Eruestan saw the faint sun that branded onto his forehead.

“Oh! Hello.” Eruestan tried very hard to keep a tone of uneasiness out of his voice. The man was Tranquil, someone who had had their connection to the Fade permanently severed, either by command of the Chantry or by personal choice. Becoming Tranquil meant losing your magic, thereby saving you from any threats of demonic possession. It came at a terrible price, however. Once your connection to the Fade was lost, you were completely unable to feel any emotions. As a result, the Tranquil were unsettling, unfeeling beings, caught somewhere between humanity and inanimacy.

“Hello,” the man said. “I am Owain, the Head Quartermaster here at the Circle Tower. I am to show you your new chamber in the Mage Quarters.”

“Yes, thank you,” Eruestan said as Owain turned around and continued walking. The Tranquil was leading him to a part of the tower he had never been before, the West Side of the third floor. The windows here were wider, letting in more light, and the air was less musty. There were more people as well, older mages and enchanters who watched Eruestan’s go past with interest. People whispered to each other as he walked by, making him flush. He had never been the center of so much attention, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Owain led him to a long hallway lined with sturdy oak doors. “Here is your room,” he said, stopping so quickly Eruestan almost crashed into him. “Number 42. Your suitemates have already been given instructions to help best orient you. Please find me at the storerooms should you have any questions.”

“Okay, thanks!” Eruestan called as Owain turned around again and walked away. Finally alone, he pressed his hands to his face and took a deep breath. The nausea had faded, but a strange, new feeling had taken its place. He was a mage now. He now had open access to almost all of the Tower, as well as all of the centuries of learning and research that it held within its walls. He smiled broadly to himself, suddenly thrilled at the opportunities that were opening up before him. Marveling at the turn in events, he pushed open his new door and found that his room was completely dark.

He stood there a little stupidly for a moment. “What the—”

“ _Oy_!” someone shouted. There was a clap, and all of a sudden the room was full of light. Eruestan found himself staring at an elf and a human, both hunched over a small iron cauldron. The elf turned to him in fury. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?”

“Sorry!” Eruestan said. “I didn’t know—”

“Well, shut the door!” the elf exploded.

“Right!’ Eruestan slammed the door shut and stared back at both of them. They were both slightly odd-looking men, a bit like children who had grown up too fast. The elf was tiny, about half Eruestan’s size with flaming orange hair. The human was considerably taller, with curly hair and a bad case of acne. Eruestan thought he remembered their faces from the Apprentice Quarters a few years ago; still, he had no idea what their names were. “Hi,” he said, squatting down next to them. “I’m Eruestan.”

They had already turned back to the cauldron, hardly bothering to look over at him. “So what do you want?” the elf asked, squinting in concentration at what he was brewing. Thick streams of white smoke were curling out of the pot, falling gently onto the floor around them.

“Don’t be an idiot, Ed,” the human said, adding a pinch of herbs to the mix. “He’s our new roommate.”

The elf stopped and stared at Eruestan. “ _This moron_ is the prodigy elf with the fastest Harrowing record in the Circle?”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Eruestan said coldly.

“Oh, don’t mind Eadric,” the human said, smiling quickly. “He’s like this to everyone, it’s nothing personal. I’m Niall, by the way. Could you toss me that stick?”

“What? Oh, yes, sure.” Eruestan stooped down and handed the other mage a large branch of some mysterious thorny plant. “So what exactly are you making?”

“Moon ale,” Niall said, stirring the cauldron rapidly. “It needs to be brewed in the dark—ah, wait.” There was a slight paused as he clapped his hands again, bathing the room in darkness once more. “There we go. Yeah, it needs to be brewed in the dark, but it gets you drunk in about three and a half swigs. It’s great.”

“It’s also forbidden at the Tower, so don’t be a bastard and tell anyone,” Eadric said.

“Got it.” Eruestan drummed his hands against his legs. “So, uh, where’s my bed?”

There was a huge sigh from somewhere in the dark. “Ed, cover it,” Niall said. “I forgot, I have to show him around.”

“Andraste’s ass!” Eadric snapped his fingers and the room filled with light once more. Climbing to his feet, he shot Eruestan a nasty look before retreating to a nearby bed. “Make it quick, ok? If we wait too long, it’ll over-ferment and kill us.”

“Oh, sod off, we’ve two days, we’re fine,” Niall said. He gestured around the room. “Eruestan, welcome to the Oasis!”

The elf looked around, unimpressed. The room was small and dark, filled with oversized furniture and piles of strange-looking junk. There were enough plants to fill a greenhouse, and the shelves on the back wall were full of bottles that Eruestan was pretty sure didn’t contain healing potions. The three beds were pushed up against the walls, each covered in piles of trash.

“This’ll be your bed,” Niall said, sweeping a blanket of elfroot off the bed against the back wall. “It used to belong to Arno, but he went a little crazy after experimenting with deep mushrooms and now he’s in the hospital ward.”

“Oh.” Eruestan hoped he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt.

“Don’t worry, we learned our lesson, no more mushrooms for us,” Niall said. He dropped his voice a little. “Besides, if you really want a good high, blood lotus is the way to go, trust me.” Eruestan smiled weakly, unsure of what to say. Niall chuckled and gave him a noogie. “Come on, follow me. I’ll show you the rest of the floor.” Eruestan nodded politely at Eadric and followed Niall out the door, wondering how long he would have to wait before he could ask for a room transfer.

Niall led him down the hall to a larger corridor. “So these are the rest of the mage quarters…that hall over there is for guests, whenever we get them…here’s the back staircase…oh, hi, Keili!” A short, brown-haired mage had come running down the hall and had nearly crashed into him.

“Out of my way, spellbind,” she hissed, glaring at him. “I’m late for my prayers.”

“Whoa there, pipe down, firecracker,” Niall said, raising his hands. “Didn’t mean to get between you and the Maker or whatever.”

Keili rolled her eyes and pushed past them, disappearing down the staircase.

“So…did, uh, she just say ‘spellbind’?” Eruestan asked. “Because she looks an awful lot like a mage to me.”

Niall grinned. “Yeah, Keili’s special. She’s just heading down to the chapel – that’s where she always is. She’s one of those people that thinks magic’s a curse and that the Maker hates her and blah, blah, blah. Don’t worry, no one really talks to her, she’s kind of a downer.” He led him around a corner. “Oh, here’s the senior library.”

Eruestan felt his brain shut down. The senior library was filled with more books than he had ever seen in his life. The shelves reached up to the ceiling and stretched back farther than he could see; for a moment, he thought his heart had stopped working.

“Niall,” he gasped. “Books.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it’s all right,” Niall said. “Kind of a snoozefest, to be honest. Some of the back corners are great for hitting a little bit of the root, though, if you know what I mean.” Suddenly he winced and turned against the shelves. “Ah, damn it, don’t look over there, don’t look.”

“Huh?” Naturally, Eruestan looked, only to see two elderly mages coming their way. “What’s the matter?”

“No, no, what are you doing?” Niall tried to pull him away; however, before he could, one of the mages cried out to them and walked over.

“Niall!” he said. “What a pleasure to see you! And who is this young man?”

“This is Eruestan Surana, Senior Enchanter,” Niall said, forcing a smile. “He’s just passed his Harrowing.”

The enchanter’s eyebrows shot up. “This is the young man the whole tower’s been talking about? A pleasure to meet you, lad! I’m Senior Enchanter Torrin, and this is Senior Enchanter Sweeney.”

“Eh?” the older man said. He was quite frankly the oldest man Eruestan had ever seen. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, Sweeney,” Torrin sighed. “Anyways, Niall, have you introduced the boy to the fraternities yet?”

“The what?” Eruestan asked.

“Evidently not,” Torrin said, smiling. “I’ll let Niall fill you in. Just be sure to have him join the Aequitarians – although I’m sure this one’s going to persuade you for the Libertarians, Eruestan.” He winked at Niall, who didn’t seem to be paying attention to him.

“Where are we?” Sweeney wheezed, squinting at them. “Is this the dining hall?”

“No, Sweeney,” Torrin said. “Sorry, lads, I need to bring this one down to take his nap. I hope to see you later, Eruestan – and congratulations again on your Harrowing.”

“Thank the Maker, I thought they’d never leave,” Niall muttered as the two walked away. “Two of the most boring men in the Tower…he would bring up the fraternities, wouldn’t he…”

“What are the fraternities?” Eruestan asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Niall said. “Just groups of self-important people who think they know how the Circle should be run. That’s all anyone ever talks about – how much freedom we should have, what to do about the Chantry, all that stuff. They always have super long Tevinter names, too: Lucrosians want money, Aequatarians want to work with the Chantry, Libertarians want total freedom…”

“And that’s what you are,” Eruestan said.

“I’m not anything,” he said, shrugging. “Although if I had to choose, I’d be with the Isolationists. Lock ourselves away and throw away the key, easier for everyone involved. But whatever. That’ll never happen – the Chantry’s very happy with the way things are now, and we’ve just got to dance to their tune.” He clapped his hands and looked around. “Right, so, do you want to go to the labs next or the artifact room?”

“Both?” Eruestan asked. Before Niall could answer, however, a Templar knight appeared behind them.

“Excuse me,” he said, a little timidly. “Can I see Eruestan?”

“What for?” Niall said, frowning.

The Templar’s face grew harder. “First Enchanter Irving wishes to see him,” he said. “I’m to escort him to his office.”

“I think Eruestan knows the way,” Niall retorted.

“Don’t challenge me, mage,” the Templar snapped.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eruestan said in alarm. Apprentices never talked to the Templars like that, and he certainly didn’t want to see where this would lead if things escalated. “Niall, it’s all right,” he said. “I’ll go with him – I’ll see you later, ok?” Shrugging, Niall shot the Templar one last dirty look and headed back towards their room.

The Templar’s face relaxed as the mage left. “Just up here – although he was right, you probably do already know that,” he said quickly as he led Eruestan towards the stairs. He was tall, with a handsome face and kind eyes, although he didn’t seem to be able to keep eye contact with Eruestan for very long. _He must be shy_ , the elf thought, which made him smile. It was odd thinking that shy Templars existed. “Sorry about all that,” the Templar said. “I didn’t mean to yell at him.”

“You’re a Templar, it’s your duty,” Eruestan said, slightly taken aback. He had never heard a Templar apologize before, either. Sensing that the knight wanted to make a bit of conversation, he decided to press him for some information. “So why does Irving want to see me?”

The Templar shrugged. “No idea. They just called me down to find you.” He paused and glanced at Eruestan furtively. “I’m Cullen, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.” It was proving to be a very strange day. Eruestan had never had a conversation with a Templar before, and here this one was, almost eager to befriend him. Maybe it _was_ all just a big dream.

“I was there last night,” Cullen said suddenly, looking at Eruestan from the corner of his eye. “At your Harrowing.”

Eruestan blinked. He leaned over a little and peered at Cullen’s face; the knight blushed, apparently just as shy as Eruestan thought he was. Staring into his eyes, however, the mage suddenly remembered the nervous-looking knight from the night before, the one he had seen just before he went under. “That’s right!” he gasped. “I remember you! You helped me!”

“I did?” He sounded happy about it.

“Yes!” There was something oddly pleasing about the look in the knight’s eyes; Eruestan couldn’t quite tell what it was.  “You looked so nervous,” he explained, feeling slightly flushed himself. “It was reassuring to see someone feel the same way I did.”

He seemed overjoyed to hear this. “Well, then, I’m glad to have been of service!”

Eruestan almost laughed. Cullen’s face had lit up like a child’s, clearly happy to have been of use. They had arrived at Irving’s door; Cullen knocked twice and waited, flushing pleasantly as he smiled at Eruestan. “Why did you look so anxious, though?” Eruestan asked him, smiling back. “Were you that worried I wouldn’t pass?”

To his surprise, instead of laughing at the joke, Cullen went pale. “Um…well,” he coughed. “See, if anything was to have…gone wrong…”

“…you were supposed to have killed me,” Eruestan said, suddenly understanding. The knight’s eyes became much less appealing. “Got it.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to!” Cullen said, turning towards him. He looked awfully desperate to prove his point; Eruestan felt a little uncomfortable.  “It’s just my duty, any other time I would never—”

“It’s all right,” Eruestan said, a bit confused. “That’s why you’re here – it’s your job.”

Cullen opened his mouth to say something else. Before he could, however, at that moment the Knight-Commander came charging up the stairs behind them. “Out of my way,” Greagoir growled. “I have business with Irving.”

“So do we, ser,” Cullen said, bowing respectfully. “The First Enchanter’s requested to see this mage—”

Greagoir looked down and groaned. “Maker’s breath, can I go one day without seeing you, boy? What’s Irving doing today, making you an Archmage?”

“Give him a week and we’ll see, Greagoir,” Irving said as he opened the door to his office. There was another man inside with him, a tall warrior with dark skin and a ponytail. “Duncan, this is the young man I would like you to meet.”

Greagoir’s eyes narrowed. “Irving, no,” he snarled, “absolutely not.”

The First Enchanter ignored him. “Eruestan, I’d like you to meet Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.”

Eruestan’s eyes went wide as he looked up at the man standing behind Irving. The Grey Wardens had been the heroes of all his childhood stories. When he had first arrived at the Tower as a child, books had been his only comfort, and the stories of the Blights had always been his favorites. In fact, just like every other elf in Thedas, Eruestan had always wanted to be Garahel, the Elven hero who had slain the last Archdemon and ended the Blights for four hundred years. To actually meet a Warden, then, was beyond his wildest dreams.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eruestan,” Duncan said, bowing. He had a nice, deep voice and very warm eyes. Eruestan couldn’t have come up with a better Warden if he tried. “Irving’s been telling me a great deal about your Harrowing. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Eruestan said, taken aback. He bowed quickly and cleared his throat, hoping he looked less stupid than he felt. “It’s not really anything special, though.”

Irving chuckled. “Of course not, finishing your Harrowing faster than any apprentice I’ve ever seen is hardly special at all. Very common, even.” He smiled fondly at him. “We’re all very proud of you, Eruestan. Now, let’s see how you look in your mage robes.” He glanced down at him and furrowed his eyebrows. “And I see you’re not wearing them. Didn’t Niall give you your new set?”

“No,” Eruestan said slowly. It seemed like a bad idea to rat out his new roommate on the first day together, though. “It probably just slipped his mind.”

“That’s Niall for you,” Irving sighed, rolling his eyes. “He’s a good lad, but his head’s a bit in the clouds. No matter, we’ll sort you out.”

“Oh, yes, we will,” Greagoir said. “Irving, what in the name of Andraste are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Irving said innocently. “Duncan is here to collect mages for Ostagar.”

“Which I’ve already disagreed to,” Greagoir said, crossing his arms.

“Knight-Commander,” Duncan said, holding out his hands, “the situation at Ostagar is much graver than you could imagine. We need many more mages if we hope to stand a chance against the darkspawn.”

“And I think that’s ridiculous,” Greagoir snarled. “You have plenty of mages already.”

“Plenty?” Irving scoffed. “We’ve sent seven!”

“Seven is more than enough!” Greagoir said. “Seven mages helped King Maric kick the Orlesians out of Ferelden – if that’s all that was needed to topple the empire, then that’s all we need to send down south.”

“Perhaps you should continue this conversation inside the First Enchanter’s office,” Duncan said, eyeing Eruestan and Cullen. “A stairwell may not the best place to discuss matters of such consequence.”

“Very wise,” Irving said, cutting in before Greagoir could say anything. “Greagoir, follow me. We’ll sort this out.” He turned back to Eruestan. “Why don’t you show Duncan to his chambers, Eruestan? They’re right off the Mage Quarters.”

“Of course,” Eruestan said, trying to hide his excitement. The chance to speak to the leader of the Grey Wardens was almost as thrilling as becoming a mage. Greagoir, however, looked practically apoplectic.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Irving,” he snapped. “Cullen, go with them.”

“I believe Cullen has noon prayers, Greagoir,” Irving said, winking at Eruestan. “Surely the safety of his soul is far more important than a few minutes of conversation with one of our guests.”

Eruestan could see the conflict raging in the Knight-Commander’s eyes. Finally, he sighed and waved his hands. “Oh, blast it, fine. Just don’t try any funny business, Duncan.”

“I stopped being funny years ago, Knight-Commander,” Duncan said. “Your mage is safe with me.”

“Very well, then.” Greagoir pushed past Eruestan and Cullen and made his way into the First Enchanter’s office. With one last doleful look at Eruestan, Irving closed the door behind him, leaving the three men alone on the landing.

Duncan turned to Cullen. “Well, I believe you have prayers to attend to, ser. We won’t keep you.”

The knight blushed and looked over to Eruestan. “I mean, if you’re sure you don’t need me to—”

“We’re sure,” Duncan said firmly. “Good day.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, bowing. “Good day to you as well.” The knight stole once last glance at Eruestan and bowed to him, too, before heading off towards the chapel.

“Templars,” Duncan chuckled, shaking his head. “If you ever want to get something from them, threaten them with the Maker. Works every time.”

“You have a lot of experience dealing with Templars?” Eruestan asked as they made their way down the stairs.

Duncan smiled. “Once you’re in my position, you have some experience dealing with everyone. All the same, I’m sure you’re much better at handling them than I am at this point.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Eruestan replied. Despite his impressive position, there was something about Duncan that made it easy to talk to him. “I’ve never really had trouble with them – I mean, they can be difficult, sure, but most of them prefer to keep to themselves. You tend to just get used to them after a while.”

Duncan conceded that point with a nod of his head. “Still, I think the rest of us forget the kind of lives you lead in the Circles,” he said. “Most people would chafe under the amount of control you have to live with.”

Eruestan smiled a little shyly, unsure of what to say. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “That is, up until now it hasn’t been. No one interferes with our classes, at least.”

“I take it you enjoy living here, then?” Duncan asked.

Eruestan looked up at him and nodded. “For the most part, yes.”

“And you don’t miss life outside the tower?” the Warden asked.

He looked down at the ground, a little taken aback. It had been a while since anyone had asked him about that. “I couldn’t say,” he confessed. “I was four when I came here, and I haven’t left since. I don’t remember anything about the outside world. Honestly, I’m pretty my life is better here than it would have been out there. I mean, I was born in the Denerim Alienage, and Makers knows elves are treated better here… I don’t know.” He shrugged, a little embarrassed at having revealed so much. “I guess there’s not much use in wondering about that, though, is there?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Duncan said. “Nothing is ever set in stone.”

Eruestan frowned. “What do you mean?”

Duncan smiled. “Nothing – forget I said anything.” He stopped in front of a large oak door. “I believe this is my room,” he said, “unless it’s changed from last time.”

“You’d know better than I would,” Eruestan admitted. “It was an honor speaking with you, Commander Duncan. Thank you for making the time to chat.”

“The honor was all mine,” Duncan said, bowing. Eruestan bowed back; the look in Duncan’s eyes when he stood back up gave him the vague sentiment that he was being evaluated. “Good day to you, Eruestan.”

“And to you, Commander,” the elf replied. With that, the Warden opened his door and walked into his room.

A bit confused, Eruestan turned to go to his new room and put on his new mage robes. That was when he saw Jowan peeking out at him from behind a statue. “Eruestan!” he hissed, ducking his head back. “Come over here!”

Eruestan frowned and walked over. While he was glad to see a friendly face in his new surroundings, whenever Jowan acted weird like that it usually meant he was going to have to do something unpleasant. “Why are you whispering, Jowan?” he asked.

“ _Shhh!_ ” His friend looked around frantically, even though no one was around to see them. “Keep your voice down! I can’t get caught up here!”

“What are you talking about?” Eruestan asked. “They’ll just send you back down to the Apprentice Quarters.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jowan said, a dark expression on his face. “Follow me, it’s not safe here.”

“What the—hey!” Jowan grabbed his arm and dragged him down a flight of nearby stairs. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Eruestan hissed as Jowan flattened both their bodies against the wall, waiting for a pair of mages to pass on the landing below them. “Have you been snorting elfroot?”

“Just trust me, ok?” Jowan said, holding a finger to his lips. “I’ll explain everything when we get there.”

“Get where?” His friend didn’t answer, dragging him along the corridor instead. Noon at the Tower was normally the best time to slip through the halls without getting caught, as the Templars were usually at prayer. As a result, the chapel should have been the last place someone trying to avoid being seen would go. However, much to Eruestan’s surprise, that was exactly where Jowan dragged him.

“What are we doing at the chapel?” he demanded as Jowan shoved him behind another statue.

“I’ll explain everything in a second,” he said urgently. “Just wait for them to finish up in there and then we can head in.”

Eruestan frowned and stared at him in concern. Jowan was acting extremely jumpy, looking over his shoulder every other minute. Eruestan could now see that he had stuffed some sort of bundle underneath his robes, making it look like he had gained a few extra pounds. Whatever was going on was strange, even for Jowan, and that made him nervous.

After a short while a tone sounded for lunch, echoing throughout the entire tower. The Templars slowly began filing out, most heading up to their quarters to enjoy the noonday meal. Eruestan noticed Cullen among the crowd, keeping mainly to himself in the sea of knights. As the last few disappeared, Jowan sighed in relief and pushed Eruestan inside.

The chapel was one of the largest rooms in the Tower, capable of holding every mage and Templar in the Circle at the same time. Although Eruestan rarely went inside, he always felt a certain calm whenever he did. It was one of the best-lit rooms in the Tower, lined with beautiful stained-glass windows and filled with votive candles and chandeliers. A large statue of Andraste, the bride of the Maker, stood in the middle of the room, wreathed in flames made of gold meant to represent the pyre she had died on in the Tevinter capital of Minrathous. Noon prayers over, the chapel was now empty except for one young priestess and Keili, the mage from earlier. “Thank the Maker,” Jowan said. “I was sure we would get caught.”

“What the hell is going on?” Eruestan hissed, staring at him. Keili glared at both of them and moved to the far side of the chapel, where she began praying fervently before an image of the Black City. “Why did you bring me here?”

Jowan led him over to the statue of Andraste where the priestess was praying. “Well, here’s the deal,” he said. “I need you to help me to break out of the tower.”

Eruestan stared at him, unable to believe how stupid he had just been. “You know, of all the things not to say in front of a priestess…”

The girl stood up, bowed to the statue of Andraste, and turned to Eruestan. “I’m only an initiate, actually,” she said, “and I was the one who gave him the idea.”

Eruestan stared blankly again. “I’m lost.”

“Um, Eruestan, this is Lily,” Jowan said nervously. “My girlfriend.”

The elf blinked. “Your what?”

“Jowan’s told me so much about you,” Lily said, giving him a hug. She was a bit taller than him and had thick, bushy hair that she had tried to force into a set of pleats. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“I, ah…You, too,” Eruestan said, staring at her. He was at a complete loss of words. “This is really your girlfriend, Jowan?”

“That’s right,” Jowan said proudly. “She’s why I’ve been spending so much time in the chapel.”

That was true, he had been spending a lot of time in the chapel. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the idea that Jowan could be in love with a Chantry initiate. “How long has this been going on, exactly?” he asked.

“About four months,” Jowan said. “I heard her singing the Chant of Light one night and fell in love.”

“You’re too sweet,” she said; Eruestan blushed at the look they gave each other. “I thank the Maker every day for you.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Eruestan said, jabbing Jowan in the ribs. “But seriously, it’s really nice to meet you, Lily. I’m so happy for both of you.”

“Thank you,” Jowan said, smiling. “But Eruestan, please, you have to help us.”

“Yes,” Lily said urgently. “It’s a matter of life and death!’

“What are you talking about?” Eruestan frowned. “Initiate/mage relations aren’t forbidden.”

“It isn’t that,” Jowan said. “Eruestan, they’re going to make me Tranquil!’

“ _What_?” Both Jowan and Lily hushed him. Keili, however, still looked over from where she was praying and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s true,” Lily confirmed, ushering them over to the other side of the chapel. “I saw the order on the Knight-Commander’s desk this morning.”

“But that’s insane!” Eruestan hissed. “Why would they want to do that?”

“They think I’m a blood mage!” Jowan moaned. “I don’t know how they got that idea, but they’ve already condemned me and everything!”

Eruestan felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Oh, no… Oh, Jowan, that’s awful.”

“They’re going to cut me off from everything that makes me who I am,” Jowan said. “My magic, my emotions, my love for Lily…please, you have to help us!”

“Of course!” Eruestan said. He was still reeling from the news, but he had already turned to leave the chapel. “I’ll talk to Irving, he’ll stop Greagoir from—”

“ _No_!” they both hissed; Keili glared at them again from her corner. “You can’t let anyone know that we know,” Lily whispered. “If they find out, they’ll cart Jowan off and we’ll never see him again!”

“Well, then, what do you want me to do?” Eruestan said. “Bust him out of the Tower?”

They both looked at him significantly.

“Oh, no,” he said. “No, no, no, no, no.”

“Please, Eruestan,” Jowan begged, “you’re my only hope. Lily and I would do it ourselves, but you know me, I’m miserable at magic. With someone like you, though, we stand a real chance!”

“Do you two have any idea what you’re doing?” Eruestan demanded, keeping an eye on Keili to make sure she couldn’t hear him. “Do you know how hard it is to break out of the Tower? Not to mention the fact that they still have your phylactery, Jowan. Have you thought of that?”

A phylactery was a small vial of blood, enchanted to create a constant link between it and the person it had been taken from. Every mage who entered the Circle was forced to have one made, which meant that the Templars could track them down no matter how far they ran and how well they hid. It was something everyone at the Tower had reminded them of constantly when they were children, mainly to dissuade them from ever attempting to break free from the Circle. It was enough to make most people stay firmly right where they were.

Jowan and Lily, however, seemed to have a different idea. “We have thought about that, actually,” Lily said. “I was able to steal a map and all sorts of instructions from Greagoir’s office – we’re going to sneak into the phylactery chamber and steal Jowan’s, and then we’ll slip out when no one’s looking!”

“Jowan, do you realize what that means?” Eruestan said, horrified. “If we’re caught breaking into the phylactery chamber…”

“We’re not going to get caught!” Jowan said. “Lily said they never send any Templars down there, and apparently the basement entrance is really hard to see from the guard post at the entrance to the Tower. Besides, nothing’s going to happen to you! Your phylactery’s been sent to Denerim now that you’re a mage – and you’re the golden boy! The greatest mage for a generation! They wouldn’t dare do anything!”

It was the worst idea he had ever heard. He was furious at Jowan for even suggesting it to him. Doing his homework for him was one thing; risking his life on a suicide mission was another. “Jowan, this is a terrible idea,” Eruestan said. “You two don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Well, we’re going to do it anyways,” Jowan said bravely, grabbing Lily’s hand. “If you help us, though, it might actually work.”

“Please, Eruestan,” Lily whispered. “His life is in danger. You know Jowan even better than I do – you know that he’s innocent.”

Eruestan hesitated. As against the plan as he was, he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Jowan became Tranquil. It was true, too, that most people at the Tower thought Jowan was capable of doing terrible things, when he knew that wasn’t the case. Jowan was no blood mage, he was a greasy-haired loafer who like to macramé and mouth off. He had also been Eruestan’s first friend at the Tower, as well as the first person to stand up for him whenever there had been trouble in the past. Hadn’t that been why he had done all his homework for all those years? Out of gratitude to someone who had always stuck by him, even when times were tough?

“Please,” Jowan said. “You’re my best friend, Eruestan. I can’t do this without you.”

Eruestan looked down at the floor, hardly able to believe what he was about to agree to. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll help you.”

Both of their faces immediately lit up, and he tried to ignore the feeling of dread that had surged up in his stomach. “Oh, praise the Maker,” Lily said. “Quickly, we need to act fast. Most of the Templars are still at lunch – if we hurry, we can make it to the basement before they change the guard!”

They ran out of the chapel and down the hall, all three of them watching over their shoulders for the signs of any Templars. Lily led them through the maze of hallways without hesitating, moving with grace and determination. Together they flew up and down stairs, zoomed through classrooms, and raced down hallways, until finally they found themselves huddled in an archway directly facing the Circle basement.

Lily peered around the corner towards the Grand Entrance, a room Eruestan hadn’t seen since he first joined the Circle as a child. “Quickly, quickly,” she muttered, watching a guard disappear behind a column. Taking a deep breath, Eruestan closed his eyes and darted across the hallway. Once inside the stairwell leading to the basement, he ducked down and waited for Jowan and Lily to join him. “This way,” Lily mouthed, sliding past him and skipping to the end of the stairs. She began walking down a long hallway; Eruestan followed after her, blinking in the dim light. With each step, his body seemed to be screaming at him to turn back, to abandon the two of them before it was too late. Instead, he kept walking with them, stopping when they did in front of a large, wooden door covered in strange runes.

“This is the Victim’s Door,” Lily whispered. “It’s made of 177 planks, one for each of the original Templars. It’s also why we need you.”

“You need me to use magic?” Eruestan asked.

She nodded. “Yes – it’s pretty easy, too. The door’s designed to only open for a Harrowed mage and a Templar together – usually that’s the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander. The Templar provides a password, and the mage touches the door with magic. It’s the only way.”

“All right,” Eruestan said, glad he didn’t have to blow anything apart. “But we don’t have a Templar.”

“You have me,” Lily said, stepping forward and holding out a hand. “Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade,” she said solemnly. There was a quiet chime, and suddenly the door began to vibrate gently. “It’s ready,” she said. “Go!”

Eruestan nodded, fighting back his horror and dread. Pressing his hands together, he took a deep breath and made both of them glow with magic. He paused for a moment; it was his last chance to back out. “What are you waiting for?” Jowan said. “Do it!”

He made his choice. He touched the center of the door with his spell, sending the light flying along the woodwork.

The wood pulsed underneath his touch, and suddenly the planks of the door were shooting into the wall. He took a step back in wonder, watching as the door dismantled in front of his eyes. Soon, all that was left was the doorframe, creating a perfect archway into the basement.

“That’s really cool magic,” he breathed. Jowan, however, grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.

“Come on!” he said. “We don’t have time for that!”

The three began racing down another hallway. Lanterns lining the way began to light up as they passed, the result of some ancient enchantment. Lily had been right, there was no one down there. Still, Eruestan was starting to feel sick with worry, even as he ran. If they were caught down there, he realized, no amount of affection from his instructors would save him.

Lily stopped them abruptly in front of a giant oak door, peering closely at the map she had brought with her. “This should be the door to the phylactery chamber,” she said, holding it up in the lantern light. “Eruestan, Jowan, try and get it open.”

“All right, I’ve got,” Eruestan said, a little wildly. He stood in front of the door and pointed his finger at the handle. “ _Resero_ ,” he said, focusing his magic.

There was a flash of light…and then nothing. The door remained closed.

Jowan frowned. “Well, you can’t be great at every spell, I guess,” he said.

“No, it worked,” Eruestan said, shaking his head. “Something’s not right.” He furrowed his eyebrows and held out his hand. “ _Aperto_ ,” he said, concentrating his powers. Nothing happened. “ _Depono_ ,” he said, trying a third spell. Still, nothing. “I don’t think the door reacts to magic,” he said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Lily paled. “What? Can you think of any other way past them?”

He shook his head, his stomach clenched in a knot.

“No!” she cried. Behind her, Jowan moaned and slid to the floor, his face white. “We’ve gotten so far! We can’t fail now!”

Eruestan bit his lip. He didn’t want to say it, but this could be a blessing in disguise. They would retreat back to the chapel, come up with a presentation for Irving, and figure out how to save Jowan from the Rite of Tranquility. He was sure the First Enchanter would listen to them – his plan would work, they had to realize that!

Lily, however, was already poring over her map, and with a sinking heart he realized that the time for second thinking was long past. “Look,” she said, pointing to a route on the page. “It’s a bit of a stretch, but I think we might be able to find another entrance if we head down this corridor.”

“Really?” Jowan asked, clambering up to his feet. “Do you really think that’ll work?”

 “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it’s not like we have any other options.”

“Good point,” Jowan said. “Let’s go!”

Eruestan followed the two of them reluctantly down the corridor, angry with himself for not having said anything sooner. Their footsteps were echoing off the building stones, making it sound as though they were being followed as Lily made them turn down another hallway to the left. It was a short corridor, lit by a single lantern and leading only to one stoat oak door. Two suits of armor flanked either side of it, each carrying a large Templar sword.

“You don’t think this’ll be locked, do you?” Lily asked.

“Let’s find out,” Jowan said. Strutting importantly, he stepped forward and pushed on it, swinging it open to reveal a darkened room lying beyond. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he cried, spinning back to look at them. Then, a metal arm knocked him to the ground.

Eruestan yelped and jumped back as the suits of armor slowly came to life in front of them. Jowan laid sprawled out on the floor in front of them, moaning softly and clutching his head. Lily shrieked and ran up to him, pulling a dagger out from under her robes. One of the suits struck out at her; she dodged the blow and began drawing its attention away from Jowan.

The other suit, however, had focused on Eruestan. Face pale, he took a step backwards and held out his hand. “ _Fulmino_!” he stammered. A small bolt of electricity shot out from his palm, crashing into the armor’s helmet. Instead of shattering to pieces, however, the suit seemed to absorb the bolt and kept moving towards him instead.

“Guys,” Eruestan said, dodging back as the armor took a swipe at him. “I don’t think we’re supposed to go through that door.”

“Huh, why do you say that?” Lily snapped as she ducked away from a sword swipe. Jowan moaned again, pressing his hands to his face. “What are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!” Eruestan cried, jumping back again. “My magic isn’t working!”

The suit of armor had cornered him, its sword dragging menacingly on the stone floor. Shaking with fear, he crouched down into a ball, holding his hand up to protect himself from the coming blow. And that was when he saw it: a small glowing rune on the center of the armor’s breastplate.

The answer came to him as quickly as if he were taking an exam in Leorah’s classroom. “ _Adimo_!” he shouted, holding out his hand. The suit of armor immediately froze and collapsed into a pile of lifeless metal. Jumping to his feet, he pointed to the suit of armor attacking Lily and repeated the spell, dispersing the enchantment.

He and Lily stood there panting for a moment, the clatter of the armor still echoing in their ears. “How did you do that?” Lily asked, still clutching her dagger and eyeing the piles of armor suspiciously.

“Dispersion spell,” Eruestan said. “Believe it or not, that was just a simple enchantment. I don’t think it was meant to put up much of a fight for a real mage.”

“Help me,” Jowan groaned from the floor, clutching his head in agony. “I’m dying.”

 “Jowan!” Lily said, crouching down next to him. “Oh, no, look at his head!”

Eruestan knelt down next to her and appraised the damage. His friend had a large goose egg on his forehead. “Jowan, you’re lucky it didn’t stab you,” he said, holding out his hand. “This doesn’t seem too bad – here.” He took a deep breath and focused his power. He had never used this much magic at once before, and he could already feel the strain that had put on his spellcasting. If he wasn’t careful, before long he was going to lose all his energy. “ _Curo_ ,” he said, placing a hand on Jowan’s forehead. There was a small flash of blue light, and before his eyes the bump on Jowan’s head disappeared.

Jowan gasped loudly, as if waking up from a deep sleep. “Thank you,” he said in wonder. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You’re just lucky your girlfriend was willing to put her life on the line for your sake,” Eruestan said. He now had a slight headache, and it was difficult to focus on what he was saying. “Take it easy sitting up, ok?”

Jowan sat up slowly and gave Lily a hug. “Man, this place is scary,” he said. “What do you think this room is?”

Lily rose to her feet and stepped towards the door, eyes wide in wonder. “Sweet Andraste,” she gasped. “Look at this.”

Lanterns had flickered on the moment she had crossed the threshold, lighting up the largest room Eruestan had ever seen. It seemed to span across the length of the Tower in proportions that he didn’t even think were possible. All it carried were shelves, however, rows and rows of thick, stone shelves filled with strange and arcane artifacts. “This must be the Tower’s storeroom,” Eruestan said in awe. “Where they put all the weird stuff.”

“Nice,” Jowan breathed. “Let’s take something.”

Lily shuddered. “No, let’s not. Magic is weird enough as it is, we don’t need to mess with anything that’s been locked in a basement for a hundred years. Come on, the left side of the room shares a wall with the phylactery chamber – if we’re lucky, we’ll find a door.”

 They kept to the left wall, skirting around the collection of treasures. Although he agreed with Lily, Eruestan couldn’t help but stare in amazement at some of the objects the Tower had kept in storage. There were odd plants that moved when they walked past them, as if they knew that they were there. A small globe turned gently by itself on a pedestal, carrying violent seas and showing clouds as they drifted across Thedas. A giant mirror lay flat on its face, pinned down by two boulders as if to keep it from moving. There were ancient spellbooks written in what appeared to be blood on human skin, twisted staves made of wood, stone, bone and metal, bizarre animal skeletons, golden robes, cauldrons large enough to fit someone inside… Eruestan had never seen so many wonders in one place.

“Look at this,” Jowan breathed, stopping suddenly in front of an extremely lifelike statue. It was of a beautiful woman, her face half-frozen in shock, one arm outstretched as if to cast a spell.

“Look how well done it is,” Lily said in awe. “It’s almost as if she’s just turned to stone.”

Eruestan peered down at the statue’s pedestal and read the Tevinter inscription on the base. “This is Eleni Zinovia,” he said. “Mother to Archon Hessarian and prophetess.” He read further and started. “She was actually turned to stone, Lily!” he said. “In punishment for predicting the downfall of her lover, Archon Valerius!” He stood back in shock. “Is this actually her?”

“Archon Hessarian?” Lily gasped. “That’s the man who condemned Andraste!”

Eruestan shook his head in wonder. “Intense family.”

“Talk about a rough deal, though,” Jowan said sympathetically. “Turned to stone for a thousand years? Do you think her arm hurts?”

It did look like she was still alive, as though she would suddenly turn around and start speaking to them. Her skin looked so soft, too, as if it were made of flesh instead of stone. Without thinking, Eruestan reached his hand out, and absentmindedly placed it on her palm.

_He was standing in front of a dragon, an evil dragon, and the world was on fire. Poison was coursing through his blood, and the screams of thousands echoed in his ears. He had come to kill the dragon, and the dragon was waiting to swallow him whole…_

“Eruestan!” Jowan dragged the elf backwards, his face white. Eruestan blinked in shock, readjusting to the light of the storeroom. “What in Maferath’s knickers was that?” his friend asked.

“What?” Eruestan said, trying to clear his head. “What do you mean?”

“Your eyes rolled back in your head when you touched the statue,” Lily whispered in terror. “And you just started shaking, like you lost all control of yourself.”

“Why did you touch it?” Jowan asked. “Lily’s right, we shouldn’t mess with anything down here.”

“I don’t know why I did,” he said in wonder. “I think…I think she showed me a vision.”

Lily shivered and shrank back from the statue. “Oh, no, let’s keep moving,” she moaned, drawing the Circle of Holy Flame on her forehead. “This is evil magic, we shouldn’t mess with it.”

“Lily’s right, we need to go,” Jowan said. He turned to Eruestan and smiled. “Of course she gave _you_ a glimpse into the future, though. Let me guess, you become First Enchanter by age 20, is that it?” Eruestan tried to smile back at him, but he was having trouble shaking the effects of the vision. It had all seemed so real, almost as if the dragon had always been coming after him. _It’s all this talk about Blights and Wardens_ , he thought, following Jowan and Lily down the wall. _I’m just imagining things now._

Before long they had reached the corner of the room. Unfortunately, they hadn’t run into any doors. “Piss!” Lily snapped, crumpling her map. “There’s nothing!”

“Well, what are we going to do?” Jowan asked. “We don’t have time to go looking for another route!”

Eruestan looked along the wall, still half in a daze. It was maddening to have come so close, to have thrown everything he valued to the breeze just to be stopped by a single wall. That’s when it came to him. “I have an extremely bad idea,” he said, turning back to the others. “Jowan, do you know any blasting spells?”

His friend stared at him, clearly impressed. “Break one rule and suddenly you’re an anarchist,” Jowan said fondly. “You really want to blast this wall down?”

“We don’t have any other options,” Eruestan said, half-amazed at his own boldness. “We’ll have to be fast – this is going to attract a lot of attention. You’re going to have to do the brunt of it, too, Jowan – I’m running low on energy.”

“Don’t worry,” his friend said, rolling up his sleeves. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time here, it’s how to mess things up. Lily, you might want to stand back.”

 The two friends walked up to the wall together, each focusing the power they drew from the Fade into explosive, destructive energy. “Keep breathing,” Eruestan said, coaching Jowan through the spell, more out of habit than anything else. “Keep it contained…keep it contained…and _now_! _Displosio_!”

They both thrust out their hands at the same time. There was a flash of light and a large crash, and suddenly the ground was shaking as they blasted a hole into the wall. As the dust cleared, they could see that they had made a smooth passage into the next room. They had made it into the phylactery chamber.

* * *

Up above them, however, a young mage was flying up the stairs to the First-Enchanter’s office. She had just tried to find Greagoir in his quarters, and now that that hadn’t worked she was racing against the clock to find the leader of the Templars on time. In her urgency, she had forgotten all sense of decorum or propriety. Not stopping to catch her breath or smooth her hair, Keili burst Irving’s door open without even knocking first.

“What’s this?” Greagoir yelled, turning around in his chair. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Keili, what’s the matter?” Irving asked, his concern overcoming his annoyance at being interrupted by one of his least favorite charges. “You don’t look well.”

She almost couldn’t speak. She hadn’t been asked to run that far in a very long time. “Two mages…and a priestess,” she gasped, clutching her side. “In the phylactery chamber!”

The two old men stared at her for a moment. “If this is the beginning to a bad joke, Keili,” Irving said, “I think it can wait.”

Before she could reply, there was a dull thud, and the room suddenly shook. Irving and Greagoir were out of their chairs before the dust could even settle, running out of the office and down the stairs to the basement. Keili was left behind to catch her breath, reveling in the joy of having served the Maker’s will.

* * *

 Downstairs, Eruestan, Jowan, and Lily were scrambling through the hole in the wall, aware that they didn’t have much time. “It’s not very big,” Eruestan noticed as he stepped through, taking a look around. The phylactery chamber was small and lined with shelves that were mostly empty, save for a handful of small, scattered glass bottles that were sealed with wax and filled with blood.

“Like I said, these are just the Apprentice phylacteries,” Jowan said. He looked very excited, hardly able to keep from skipping with joy as he ran up to one of the shelves. “It’s too bad we didn’t do this earlier, Eruestan, we could have gotten yours before they sent it off to Denerim.”

“Don’t worry about me,” the elf said, taking to another set of shelves. “We need to find yours as fast as possible, Jowan, someone has to have heard the blast.”

He scanned over the bottles on his shelves, reading the names of all the people he’d grown up with. It was a little strange, seeing all of them reduced to one tiny little bottle. He wondered what his looked like, and where it was.

“It’s weird, I almost feel like I can sense it,” Jowan said from the other side of the room. His eyes were closed, his arms held out in front of him. “It’s like I can hear my own heartbeat, but like it’s calling out to me, you know?” He turned and walked towards the center of the room, arms outstretched like he was sleepwalking. Walked up to Eruestan, he began traipsing his hands along the tops of the vials, murmuring to himself as he did so. “It’s this one!” he said suddenly, opening his eyes and picking up a bottle. “It has to be!”

Eruestan looked over and sighed. “No, that’s someone named Harvey’s. Just look at the names on the bottles.” He turned back to the group he was rifling through, and suddenly there it was. “Jowan, I found it!”

The three of them gathered around the tiny glass bottle bearing the name “Jowan Rone”. Jowan took ahold of it somberly, an odd look on his face. “It’s so delicate,” Lily said, eyes gleaming. “Like it has a little life of its own.”

“It’s so strange,” Jowan murmured. “One little bottle is all that stands between me and my freedom….and just like that,” he said, letting it slip from his fingers, “it’s all gone…”

The vial shattered on the floor below them, spattering Jowan’s shoes with tiny flecks of blood. Suddenly, Jowan’s spine stiffened, and Eruestan could hear a faint rustling, as if the breeze had managed to find its way into the basement.

“I’m free,” Jowan whispered.

There was an enormous boom from outside the chamber, and before any of them could react, the oak door leading to the room burst open. Lily shrieked and grabbed Jowan’s arm as Irving, Greagoir, and a squadron of Templars marched inside, weapons drawn. The knight Cullen was in the back, face frozen in horror as he realized that Eruestan was among the rebels. The elf felt himself go numb with dread, watching his worst fear play out in front of him.

“What in the name of the Maker is going on here?” Greagoir thundered, fury in his eyes. He glanced down at the puddle of blood at Jowan’s feet and looked up at them in rage. “You…you have broken your phylactery…”

Irving looked horrified. “Eruestan, Jowan,” he said, shaking his head. “What have you done?”

Time was slowing down; Eruestan was barely able to form words. “Sers, I…I can…”

“Silence!” Greagoir roared, spit flying. His face had gone completely red; any angrier and he might have struck them down on the spot. “This is not a game or something you can explain! You have broken the most sacred rule of this Circle! You have aided the escape of an apostate and a maleficar!”

“No!” Lily cried, throwing herself between him and Jowan. “Jowan is no maleficar!”

“I said _silence!_ ” Greagoir snapped, towering over her. “Especially from you! A Chantry initiate, helping someone like this escape! You spit on our faith! You mock our Lady Andraste!”

“Andraste died for justice and equality,” Lily said bravely, holding her chin high. “She would have done the same.”

This only seemed to make the Knight-Commander angrier. “Men!” Greagoir yelled. “Arrest this woman! Some time in the Aeonar will sort her out!”

Eruestan felt his blood turn to ice. The Aeonar was an ancient Tevinter fortress hidden somewhere in Ferelden that was now used as a prison for mages and enemies of the Chantry. Those who were sent there were never seen again, but the rumors of what happened there were enough to make you lie awake at night.

“No, wait,” Lily stammered, stepping back as two of the guards approached her. “Please, not Aeonar, please! Anything but that! I’m sorry, please…”

Eruestan opened his mouth to say something; however, before he could, Jowan had pushed Lily back, his face twisted in fury. “ _No_!” he screamed. “ _I won’t let you touch her_!”

By the time Eruestan realized what he was doing, it was too late. Fast as sin, Jowan pulled a dagger from under his robes and plunged it into his palm. Howling in pain, he began to mutter in a twisted language that Eruestan didn’t recognize, something guttural and dark that echoed harshly off the walls. He then thrust his hand forward, sending a shower of blood flying towards Irving, Greagoir, and the Templars.

The air seemed to constrict in the room. Blood rushed to Eruestan’s face as Irving threw up a magical shield that blasted him, Greagoir, and two of the Templars back when it crashed against Jowan’s spell. The two Knights who had come after Lily, however, had risen into the air, clutching at some invisible force at their throats. With a snarl, Jowan shouted some sort of command, and with a sickening crack their necks snapped in a rush of magic. The spell ending, Jowan flung out his hands, throwing their bodies against the back wall.

The chamber was silent for a moment, the air reeking of blood and a strange, rotting stench. Eruestan had huddled into himself in horror, his hands shaking uncontrollably. The people who had been sheltered by Irving’s spell were still lying on the floor; he wondered if they were dead, too. “Jowan,” he said, too stunned to scream, “that was…you just…” He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “You’re a blood mage.”

The other mage shook his head. “No, I’m not!” he said vehemently. “I’ve only ever dabbled – I found notes, they helped me – I was only trying to make myself a better mage!”

Eruestan backed away from him, terrified. “That’s not how it works, Jowan!” he cried. “Blood magic is evil! It’ll corrupt you – it does things like this!” His voice was cracking in fear. “We trusted you, Jowan!”

“I was going to give it up!” Jowan pleaded. “You know me, Eruestan! This isn’t what I do! I don’t want to hurt people! I just wanted to get strong enough to break out of here! Afterward, I was going to give all magic up, I promise! I was going to give it up for Lily!” As he said her name, he froze, as if just remembering something important. He turned slowly to the corner where she was huddled, eyes wide with fright.

“Lily,” he whispered, taking a step towards her, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—” 

“Don’t come near me!” she shrieked, pressing herself further into the wall. “Stay back, maleficar!”

Jowan stopped in his tracks, wounded. “Lily, it’s me,” he said in disbelief. “It’s Jowan!”

“I don’t know who you are,” she snarled, her face distorted in hatred and wrath. “You lied to me! You hurt all those people! You’re evil, Jowan!”

“Lily, I—”

“ _Get away_!” she shrieked, swiping at his legs with her dagger.

Jowan jumped back, his world visibly shattering around him. Obviously floundering, he looked around helplessly, turning back to his oldest friend. “Eruestan,” he said weakly, “please, help me. It’s me, you know I’d never—”       

“I’ve done enough for you, blood mage,” Eruestan growled. “And I clearly don’t know who you are. Get away from us.”

Jowan looked as though someone had smacked him across the face. “I’m…I’m sorry, Eruestan,” he said quietly. “I truly am.” With one last pained look, he pulled out his dagger and pricked his thumb with it. The room immediately went dark, and suddenly a wave of energy knocked Eruestan to his knees. Then the light returned, and Jowan was gone.

Eruestan knelt there for a moment, rocking himself gently. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “A blood mage...”

“And to think I was going to sleep with him,” Lily said coldly. “Here, help me.” Eruestan nodded and climbed to his feet, walking over with her to where Irving and Greagoir lay unconscious on the floor. “Do you know any spell to wake them up?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know if I’d have the presence of mind to cast it, either.”

“Then I guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way, then,” she said, bending over Greagoir’s head. With unnerving calm, she reached her hand back and slapped him in the face. “Knight-Commander,” she said urgently, slapping him again, “please, you must wake up…”

“Ugh…ah, girl, stop it, I’m awake!” Greagoir snapped, slowly sitting up. “What in Andraste’s Grace happened?”

“I aided a blood mage, ser,” Lily said without hesitating, “and he attacked you.”

“Lily, that’s not fair,” Eruestan said, staring at her in confusion. Irving had started stirring beneath him; he bowed his head in shame, unwilling to face his mentor. “Sers, I know I’ve lost all your trust,” he said. “But believe me, Lily didn’t know what Jowan was. She’d never have done anything if she knew—”

“You’ve already helped me so much, friend,” Lily said, cutting him off with a slight smile. “But I must take responsibility for what I’ve done. Knight-Commander, First Enchanter, I fully assisted a blood mage in his escape from the Tower and helped destroy his phylactery, putting thousands of lives at risk. I have betrayed my religion and my order, and I humbly submit myself to whatever punishment you see fit.”

“Oh, you foolish children,” Irving said sadly; Eruestan winced at the sound of his voice.

“There’s no time for that, Irving,” Greagoir said harshly. “You will pay for your crimes, Initiate, mark my words.” Lily bowed her head humbly and worked to wake up the remaining Templars.”

Greagoir rose to his feet and turned to Eruestan. The elf kept his head down, feeling the Knight-Commander’s rage build up before him. “And now, what to do with you…”

“I was going to ask the same question,” another voice rang out in the room. Eruestan looked up in shock to see Duncan enter the chamber, looking mildly bemused at all the destruction and carnage.

“Duncan,” Greagoir said, trying and failing to keep the anger out of his voice, “I must you ask you to leave. This is strict Tower business, and you have no place here.”

“Unfortunately, Knight-Commander, I have to disagree,” Duncan replied. “I have come to recruit Eruestan for the Grey Wardens.”

It was too much for one day; Eruestan almost thought he was going to cry. There was no more room left in him for wonder or fear, just dull acceptance that he was no longer in control of his fate. He simply crossed his arms tighter and waited for whatever was to come.

“A Grey – never,” Greagoir spat. “Commander, have you lost your mind? This boy has betrayed the Circle! He’s betrayed the faith! He helped unleash a dangerous apostate into the world, and for all we know he’s dabbled in the black arts himself! Letting him go would make a mockery of my duties.”

“I am aware of your concerns, Greagoir, and of what he’s done,” Duncan said. “But we live in dark times, and I’m afraid my duties must override yours. I don’t believe I need to remind you that I hold the Right of Conscription. I have the right to recruit any man or woman I see fit to join the Order, even those condemned by the law.”

Greagoir’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would,” Duncan said. “Eruestan has the makings of an excellent Warden, and the Order needs talented mages now more than ever.”

Eruestan realized he was holding his breath. Greagoir looked furious, as if he were about to burst with rage. “Fine,” he said. “You want the elf, you can have him. If you do take him, however, I will personally forbid any other mage to leave this Tower for the south. The risk is too great to leave them under the supervision of someone as misguided as you.”

Duncan paused. Eruestan’s heart had gone still. This was the moment that would decide his fate, whether he was doomed to die or watch as his life changed for good.

“I accept,” Duncan said finally. “Eruestan will become a Grey Warden.”

“Then it is done,” Greagoir snapped, his eyes flashing. “I must now ask you to leave this Tower immediately.”

Duncan nodded. “I understand. Follow me, please, Eruestan.” The elf didn’t react at first, too numb from the shock. “Eruestan?”

“Oh! Yes, sir.” Nothing was making any sense. He rose to his feet, his pulse beating in his ears. There was no room for celebration, no room for relief. He had lived, and he had become a Warden, never again to be a Circle mage. Eruestan looked around the room in a daze. Greagoir refused to meet his gaze, as did Cullen, who was busy instead tying Lily’s hands behind her back. He wanted to say something, but she was looking past him as if he weren’t there, smiling sadly to herself. The only person to acknowledge him was Irving. He felt his face flush with shame at the look of mixed disappointment and pride in the First Enchanter’s eyes.

“Take care, Eruestan,” Irving said finally, his voice grave.

“Thank you, ser,” Eruestan said, bowing to him. Blinking back tears, he then turned to go, following Duncan out of the basement.

“Commander,” he said as he caught up to him, “I just wanted to say—”

“Don’t,” Duncan said firmly. His voice was neither castigating nor comforting, merely conversational. “I did not recruit you to save your life. Had you been any other mage, I would have left you to your fate. Do you understand that?” Eruestan nodded, a little taken aback by his words. “You must also realize that had I expected Greagoir to allow more than a handful of mages to go down south in the first place, I would not have recruited you, either. Do you understand that as well?” Eruestan nodded again, feeling the tips of his ears flush. “I am telling you this not to downplay your worth, but to show you that from now on, every decision you make must be for the good of the world. You are now the last bastion against the Blight, and nothing else you do can come before that. Do you understand?”

He nodded one last time, unable to process what was happening to him. The feeling that he was stuck in a dream had come roaring back, and try as he might he couldn’t clear his head. “I understand,” he said finally, finding his voice. “I’ll do my best, I promise.”

“Good,” Duncan said firmly. They had walked into the entrance hall, but Eruestan was too overwhelmed to look around. The Warden Commander nodded at the Templars standing guard at the giant doors leading to the outside world, none of whom seemed surprise to see that they were leaving. “We have a long road ahead of us,” Duncan said as they moved to open the doors. “I’m afraid you won’t have much time to get used to life outside.”

“That’s all right,” Eruestan said. A chill had gone through his body. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. “Are we heading straight down to Ostagar, Commander?”

“Call me Duncan, please,” he said. The doors had suddenly started to rumble open, and for the first time in fourteen years Eruestan was about to walk outside the Tower. “And no, not yet. We’re heading north for now.”

“We are?” Eruestan asked, staring widely at the world before him. A breath of fresh air had wafted into the hall, gently brushing his hair off his shoulders.

Duncan nodded. “I’ve agreed to accompany some old friends down south,” he said, leading Eruestan out the door. “While we’re there, I’m hoping to recruit someone as well. We’re heading to Castle Cousland, the seat of the Teyrn of Highever.”

The doors to the Tower rumbled shut behind them, and Eruestan was left blinking in the sunlight. The air off Lake Calenhad smelled fresh and clean, and for the first time his mind stretched beyond the confines of the Tower. He was a Grey Warden now, and an entire world had replaced the one that had just collapsed around him. “To Highever it is, then,” he said quietly.

And just like that, he left the Circle forever.


	6. A Letter to the King

_Cailan, let me be frank: you need an heir…_

_Nephew, the time to put Anora aside has come…_

_Her ability to bear a child lessens with every month…_

Loghain Mac Tir took an unsteady breath and nestled back in his chair. The letter had been brought to him with his evening meal, a simple plate of farmer’s stew that he still enjoyed even though he was now the most powerful noble in the country. He no longer had much of an appetite, however. “Treason,” he spat, crumpling the letter in his hands. “This is treason.”

He was calm for a moment. Then, with a bellow of rage, he flipped over his desk.

How could Eamon do this? How dare he even suggest it? How could a man who had called him friend ever suggest that the king divorce Anora, Loghain’s only child? It made him sick.

It was all politics, of course. He knew Eamon had nothing against his daughter. Who could? Anora was the perfect queen, running the country with smooth efficiency and finding elegant solutions to everyone’s problems. No, Eamon didn’t hate her; he hated the idea of her. She represented everything the old establishment in Ferelden despised. Despite being the granddaughter of a pig farmer, Anora had become the true symbol of the Fereldan Crown. That had to make Eamon Guerrin, with his perfect pedigree, sick with rage.

Unfortunately, Eamon was right. Anora had been unable to provide an heir, and even Loghain couldn’t deny the significance of that. His daughter may have been running the country, but Cailan’s blood was the reason why they were on the throne. He was a descendant of Calenhad, the great hero king who had united Ferelden, and continuing his lineage was a matter of the utmost importance. “Damn Eamon,” Loghain snarled. “Damn him for using this against her.”

But who did he have in mind to replace the queen? Not many girls in Ferelden were of the right rank to impress the Bannorn, and only one came from a family with enough power to seriously challenge the Mac Tirs. To be fair, Bryce Cousland’s daughter would make someone a wonderful wife. She was young and beautiful, and her father had more money and strength than he did himself. But no, that would never work. The girl was headstrong and impulsive, preferring to play the warrior rather than sip tea and read paperwork. She would never accept Cailan’s proposal, and Bryce and Eleanor would never force her to. Besides, it would do Eamon no good to put the Couslands in a greater position of power. While it would restore control to the old Fereldan families, Eamon would want someone that would prioritize Redcliffe’s interests above anything else.

No, Loghain knew exactly whom Eamon had in mind, and that was the worst betrayal of all.

“Celene,” he snarled. That dirty bastard Eamon. Proposing the Whore Empress of Orlais as Cailan’s wife, making her the Queen of Ferelden. Of course, that would suit Eamon fine, him with his Orlesian wife. Celene would be more than happy to grant favors to a friendly face; Eamon was probably counting on it. It was disgusting. Orlais was a nation of lechers and thieves, dirty murderers who had enslaved Ferelden for sixty years. Did Eamon not remember how the Orlesians butchered his own father? Did he not remember how Redcliffe had suffered during Ferelden’s war for independence?

That was the problem, Loghain thought. No one did remember how it was. Not in the old days. No one remembered the liberties taken by the chevaliers, the taxes, the rapes, the murders. No one remembered the burning villages, the crying children, the slaughtered families. No one remembered the stacks of heads piled in the markets of Denerim, put there by Meghren, the mad Orlesian King of Ferelden who danced on the bent backs of Loghain’s countrymen and treated them as playthings. No one remembered...except him.

Everything that was now was a lesser version of what had been, he thought bitterly. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had gone soft, taking holidays to Val Royeaux and filling their home with foreigners and flounces. Leonas Bryland spent more time with his books than his people, dominated by his brat daughter whose love for silks and cake betrayed the roots she inherited from Bryland’s Orlesian mother. Even Cailan was just a weak-minded boy, a watered-down version of the hero King Maric, Loghain’s greatest friend. And as for Eamon and Teagan…well, that wasn’t fair. Anyone would pale in comparison to their sister.

But that wasn’t important right now. What was important was that Anora kept her throne.

But how could he do that? His hands were tied. He knew Cailan – if he tried to strong arm him, the boy would only run away faster. Confronting Eamon was impossible, too, if he didn’t want him to learn he had been reading his letters to the king. No, there had to be another way. If only he could keep Anora close to Cailan at all times, to not give him the chance to look elsewhere. But that would be impossible with this blasted Blight brewing down south. After all, his daughter did not belong on a battlefield. He would have to find a different solution…

Loghain stopped and blinked. An idea had occurred to him. But no, he couldn’t. Cailan was Maric’s son – more importantly, he was Rowan’s. Hadn’t he sworn to her that he would protect him? Had there ever been anything more sacred to him in his life than her memory?

And yet, of course there was. Staring out his window, he had a brief vision of the future that could be, where Celene took Anora’s place beside Cailan’s throne. _Never_ , he thought, setting his jaw _. I would rather die than let that happen._ So it was decided, then. Folding Eamon’s letter into a tiny ball, he bent down and tossed it into the fire. He had to do it. He had to for Ferelden.  


	7. The Couslands

House Cousland was one of the oldest families in Ferelden, and one of the most powerful by far. Sitting proudly in their castle on the coast of the Waking Sea, the teyrns of Highever ruled over most of the northern part of the country, and few could claim to have a closer link to the history and pride of the Fereldan people. The Cousland name was spoken of respectfully in all the great courts of Thedas, and some looked to the teyrn for guidance before turning to even the king himself. It was a position many people around the globe would kill for.

Yet none of that mattered to Rowena Cousland. All she was worried about was royally beating her best friend’s ass.

“Keep your guard up, Rory!” she sang, kicking him in the stomach before retreating to a defensive stance, her sword crossed in front of her.

The knight she was sparring with keeled over slightly and blocked her second blow with his blade. “My guard _was_ up, you unnatural freak,” Rory growled, taking a step back. The wind from the sea was making his hair flutter across his face, a weakness she was all too happy to take advantage of. “And you don’t need to be giving me lessons!”

“Don’t I?” she asked innocently, slashing at him once, twice, three times with her sword. The knight parried all three blows, stumbling back on the sand of the beach beneath the castle. Rowena kept pressing, adjusting her own footwork to the uneven terrain. Her friend’s face was flushed, trying his best to keep her sword at bay. His feet, however, soon tangled over themselves, and he was forced to look down to make sure he didn’t fall over. That was all the opening she needed. With a malicious smile, Rowena spun around and struck his sword with hers, knocking it out of his hands.

Rory held his hands up, a look of utter defeat spreading across his face. “Please don’t,” he said.

She shook her head. “Rules are rules, Rory.” She then kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling across the sand.

Gloating quietly, she sheathed her sword and took a moment to breath in the fresh air coming off the sea. Closing her eyes, she smiled to herself and undid her ponytail, letting her red hair fly freely in the wind like fire. The sea was in her blood; her mother’s family was a famous clan of raider nobles, and Eleanor Cousland had always enjoyed bringing her children to the water. One day, she thought, she would take to the seas herself, until the name Rowena Cousland was known throughout all of Thedas.

Rory had pulled himself to his knees. “Ok, we get it, you’re hot,” he huffed, massaging his chest. “Now help me up.”

Rowena laughed and reached out a hand, pulling her friend to his feet. Rory was the grandson of one of her father’s lords, and he had spent most of his youth at Castle Cousland training to be a knight. He and Rowena had been sparring since they were children; she was very proud of the fact that he had not once been able to beat her.

“You know, I should never have agreed to come down here to the beach,” he said, picking up his sword and sheathing it. “Everyone knows women fight better on sand.”

Rowena rolled her eyes. “You’ve said the same thing about dirt, stone, clay, and glass.”

“So women can just in general fight better than men, what do you want me to say?” They grinned at each other and climbed on top of a nearby boulder, both drinking from their waterskins as they watched waves roll in from the sea. “It’s really not fair, you know,” Rory said, leaning back on the rock. “If you weren’t around, I’d be the best warrior in Highever.”

“Oh, stop it, Rory, you’re great and you know it,” Rowena said. “I would never have gotten to where I am today if I hadn’t been able to practice with you and Fergus. Besides, look at all the good it does me,” she added bitterly. “You’re the one who gets to go down south with the army.”

“Which I still think is insane,” Rory said. “What are they thinking, keeping you up here with all the darkspawn popping out of the ground? It’s like they don’t want us to win.”

Rowena shrugged and looked back out to the sea, her mood slightly soured. She secretly agreed with him, of course. She was an amazing warrior, after all, and there was nothing she wanted more than to ride to Ostagar with the armies of Highever and join in the fight against the darkspawn. Ever since the king had called the Bannorn to action, however, both her parents had been very firm: she was to stay in Highever and help her mother guard the castle. Though she had known better than to push too hard to change their minds, she had been seething on the inside ever since. There was no glory in staying home, no matter how much they told her she was needed in the north.

“Wow,” Rory said, leaning over. “That’s a very impressive brooding look.”

Rowena laughed in spite of herself and jumped back onto the sand. “What can I say, I have many talents,” she said, throwing her gear over her shoulder. “Come on, though, we should head back to the castle. If we stay out here too long I’m going to miss saying goodbye to my brother.”

The two began making their way back up to Castle Cousland, which towered over them on the cliffs overlooking the shore. The beaches under the castle were normally empty, and the blustery sea winds buffered them as they walked between the sand dunes up the path back to the castle. Rowena’s stomach had started to grumble; the two of them had left the castle before sunrise, and they hadn’t had time to eat. She would have to grab something from the larders when Nan wasn’t looking.

There was a lot of excitement the closer they drew to the castle, which of course made sense. The entire village was preparing to send its sons and daughters off to battle, and Rowena could tell that emotions were running high. No one even had the time to notice the teyrn’s daughter walking among them. Farmers were loading supplies into wagons, stable workers were attending to horses, and a second army of errand boys was running in every direction, performing the million tasks that needed to be done before anyone could leave. Soldiers had already started gathering in the main square, and flocks of concerned loved ones were fawning over all of them. Every house in the village seemed to be flying a banner of the Sacred Flame, beseeching the Maker to protect a beloved child, spouse, or sibling.

The castle gates were still open as they approached, and as they walked into the main courtyard Rowena immediately saw why. The guest stables were full of beautiful horses, all wearing saddles bearing the crest of the Arling of Amaranthine. “Howe’s finally made it!” she said to Rory. “Took him long enough!”

“Hey, not all of us are thrilled at the prospect of charging down underground monsters in a few weeks, cut the man some slack,” Rory said. “Speaking of which, what do you think the odds are that I’ll score with some of the poor, lonely Amaranthine boys who need someone to protect them from the Blight?”

Rowena shrugged. “Can’t say – depends on how many blind boys Arl Howe brought with him.” Rory flipped her a rude sign as she grinned impishly. “I should go, though,” she said, handing her equipment to a nearby stable boy. “If Howe’s here, I’ll be expected to go say hello.”

“While you’re at it, ask about any particularly worried soldiers for me,” Rory called after her. “And no blind ones, please!”

“Picky, picky!” Rowena yelled back, grinning. He waved goodbye as she hurried through the main doors leading into the castle, nodding at two servants who bowed to her as she walked past. It was going a hot day, one of the first ones of the summer. The staff had put overpowering bouquets of lavender and jasmine throughout the castle to block the smell of manure wafting in through the open windows – one of her mother’s favorite tricks. Most everyone looked tired, likely from the feast they’d held the night before for the departing soldiers. Still, there was a certain nervous energy in the air, the kind Rowena wished she could take part in. It was infuriating to watch so many people prepare to leave when she knew she was going to be stuck at home.  

The doors to the Great Hall were open as she approached it, dodging around servants carrying out soiled tapestries and broken chairs. She could see her father and Howe already, discussing something angrily in the center of the sea of servants. She held back for a moment, looking at her father affectionately. Teyrn Bryce Cousland was a tall man who had only just begun to put on a bit of weight, with a face that was prone to laughter and a thick head of graying hair. He was gesturing wildly at his friend, whose back was turned to Rowena. Thinking she had chosen a bad time, she started to turn to go. At that moment, however, her father noticed her and waved for her to come over. “There you are, Pup!” Bryce boomed, wrapping an arm around her. “I told Rendon you’d show up at some point!”

Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine was her father’s oldest friend. They had fought in King Maric’s Rebellion together, and had barely made it out of more than a few scraps with their lives. A thin, balding man with a long face, he had always frightened her a bit when she was a child. He bowed before her. “Lady Rowena,” he said, smiling at her. “As beautiful as ever.”

Rowena curtsied back to him, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. All noblemen ever wanted to tell her was how beautiful she was. “It’s nice to see you again, Your Lordship,” she said. “I hope you and your men had a pleasant march from Amaranthine.”

“Well, we’ll have to ask them that when they get here, won’t we, Pup?” her father said sternly, glaring at Howe. Rowena looked up at him questioningly. “Amaranthine’s men haven’t made it yet,” he explained. “Apparently there were ‘supply issues’.”

“Your Grace, please,” Howe said, bowing his head. “The delay was beyond my control. The late rains left the roads muddy, and my men had to take longer to pass through. There’s no accounting for the acts of the Maker.”

“You’ve had months to rally your men, Rendon!” her father said. “Cailan is expecting us down south in a week!”

“My men are not far behind,” Howe said; Rowena frowned at him, unimpressed with his seeming lack of concern. “The king will hardly notice the delay, Your Grace.”

“Oh, shove off with the titles, Rendon, we’ve known each other since we were boys!” Bryce said. “And as for Cailan – well, on your own head be it. I’m still sending my boy down south with the army today, in any case. I’ll ride down with your men – if they ever get here, that is.”

Howe smiled and bowed his head. “It would be an honor, old friend.” He turned to Rowena. “And what about you, my lady? I expect you’ll be riding down with your brother today?”

Rowena felt a scowl coming on. “I’m afraid not,” she said, trying to keep her mouth from pouting inadvertently. “Unfortunately, I won’t be heading down to Ostagar at all.”

“What?” Howe looked genuinely shocked. “Bryce, this is absurd,” he said, shaking his head. “A warrior of your daughter’s caliber, left out of the fray? It’s a disservice to the country!”

“Oh, don’t get her started, Rendon,” Bryce said, shaking his head. “She gave us hell about it for a week.”

“And rightly so!” Rowena was mildly surprised to see Howe champion her cause so vehemently. She had never thought he particularly appreciated her skills on the field, especially after she had thoroughly beaten his son Thomas in the final rounds of the Denerim tournament two years prior. “Bryce, are you sure this is a good idea?” Howe asked. “The whole country has heard of her prowess – His Majesty might take her absence as a slight.”

“That’s a good point,” Rowena said, nudging her father in the ribs. “Remember, Da? I’m famous.”

“You never let us forget,” he said, rubbing his side. “And thank you for your advice, Rendon, but the decision is final. Ellie and I thought long and hard about it, and if Cailan’s not happy with me, my heir, and my armies, then I don’t know what else I can do.” Rowena sighed and crossed her arms. “Come on, Pup, don’t give me that,” he said. “You know I promised your mother I wouldn’t cave, and what the Seawolf wants, the Seawolf gets.”

“Believe me, I know better than to cause trouble now,” she grumbled. “She’d probably make me walk the plank.” As she said that, a pirate walked into the Great Hall.

She had to blink to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. On second glance, he was probably dressed too well to actually be a raider; his blue-and-grey armor was clearly of extremely high quality. Still, with his dark skin, short ponytail, and golden earring, he could have waltzed right out of the stories her mother had told her about Rivain as a child. All that was missing was a peg-leg and a foul-mouthed parrot. Instead, the man had walked in with a thin, pale elf with a delicate face and shoulder-length black hair. The elf was wearing a set of strange set of long, grey robes that looked unbearably hot in all the summer weather.

“Duncan!” her father shouted, stepped forward to greet him. Rowena blinked again; apparently her father knew this pirate. “I was wondering when you’d show up! We were worried we’d have to leave without you!”

“My apologies, Bryce,” the man said, bowing before him. “We ran into a little trouble along the road.” He turned to Howe and bowed again. “Your Lordship, a pleasure to see you, as always.”

“An honor, as always,” Howe said, nodding. “Riding down with the Wardens will be a great privilege.”

Bryce had turned back to his daughter, who still hadn’t quite figured out what was going on. “Pup, Duncan here is the Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden,” he said. “Aldous has told you about the Grey Wardens, hasn’t he?”

Rowena felt her face go pale, the way it always did whenever someone questioned her about her studies. “Ah…yes…Uh, they stop Blights, don’t they? And then something about griffons?”

“Pup never was much for her studies,” Bryce said apologetically. “Duncan, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Lady Rowena Cousland.”

Duncan bowed before her. “A pleasure to meet you at last, my lady,” he said. “I was fortunate enough to witness your victory at the Denerim tournament – you have a grace with a sword that is decades beyond your years.”

She was taken aback by the compliment – it was far better than hearing about her beauty again, in any case. “Thank you,” she said, curtsying back to him. “It’s an honor to meet you, Commander.”

He smiled and then motioned back to the elf that had accompanied him. “Allow me to introduce the Order’s newest recruit from the Circle of Magi, Ser Eruestan Surana.”

The elf looked horrified to be presented in front of so many people. He bowed quickly, the tips of his ears bright red. “It’s an honor to meet you all,” he stammered, keeping his eyes to the ground.

The teyrn bowed back to him. “The honor is ours, Warden, trust me.” Rowena curtsied as well, smiling kindly at him. So he was a mage. That explained the robes and the wide-eyed innocence. It was also fascinating – she’d never seen anyone do magic before. Maybe if she was lucky she could get him to sneak her among the troops before they all left for Ostagar.

In the meantime, Howe had merely sniffed at the elf, turning back to Duncan instead. “So, Bryce tells me you’ve come to recruit one of his men,” he said casually.

Duncan nodded. “A Ser Roderick Gilmore. One of the other recruits from Highever recommended him.”

“Rory?” Rowena said in surprise. “No, that’d be perfect! He’s exactly the type of person you’re looking for!”

“A very talented young man,” Bryce confirmed. “Pup went out training with him this morning, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “Kicked his ass, too, as usual,” she said proudly. She then realized she was standing in front of his potential employer. “He put up a really good fight, though,” she said quickly.

“If anyone should join the Wardens, it’s Lady Rowena, Commander,” Howe said. “With all this talk of Blights, surely you’d appreciate having someone with her talents in the Order.”

“I can’t deny that,” Duncan said. “Your daughter’s reputation precedes her, Bryce. It would be an honor to have her in our order.”

Rowena’s eyes lit up. She didn’t quite know who the Wardens were, exactly, but they were supposed to be great warriors who were owed a lot of respect. Plus, if she joined them now, she would be able to head down south with the army after all. “The honor would be all mine!” she said. “I’d be thrilled to—”

“Absolutely not.” She looked up at her father in surprise. His face had gone white, and he was glaring at Duncan and Howe as if they had spat in his face. “No child of mine will ever become a Warden.”

“Da, what’s the matter?” she asked in shock. She had never seen him this angry before. “It’s a huge honor.”

“You don’t understand, Rowena.” He was still glaring at the two other men. “I know exactly what happens to Wardens in this country, Duncan. She joins, she loses her title, her claims to land, her ties to her family. I won’t let her make that sacrifice.”

“That may not be your decision, Bryce,” Howe said sneakily. “Duncan does have the Right of Conscription.”

For a moment, Rowena thought her father was going to punch him. “Shut up, Rendon.”

“My lords, please,” Duncan said. “No one is being conscripted today. As I said before, I am strictly here for Ser Gilmore.” The teyrn didn’t look convinced. “Your daughter is safe, Bryce,” Duncan said gently. “I would never dream of taking her in without both your and Eleanor’s consent.”

Bryce relaxed. “Very well; so long as we’re clear…” He smiled weakly and shook his head. Beside him, Rowena’s heart sank. It had been a great opportunity to see the fighting, and now that, too, was out of the question. “Anyways, Duncan, you didn’t need to worry about being late,” her father said. “There’s been a bit of a delay.”

The Warden frowned. “I hope it’s a short one,” he said. “The armies of Highever and Amaranthine are among the largest in Ferelden – they would be sorely missed on the battlefield.”

“My eldest leaves with my own men in an hour,” the teyrn explained. “It’s this lout who’s holding us up.”

 “Perhaps we could discuss this in a more… _private_ location?” Arl Howe sniffed, looking down at the elven Warden-Recruit. “Too many ears around here who might be listening.”

Rowena frowned at the racist remark. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, my lord.”

The men in the room looked at her in surprise; even the elf didn’t seem to understand what was going on. “All right, my lady, I’ll make it simpler,” Howe said, smirking. “Leave the war talk to the grown men.”

“Rendon,” her father said warily.

Rowena just laughed. “Right, right, because women and elves have no idea what’s ever going on.”

“You’re just a girl, my lady,” Howe said. “A talented one, true, but you’re still only, what, 16?”

“17,” she said coldly, fully aware that he was hiding behind an easy defense.

He shrugged. “And Ser Surana doesn’t seem to be much older. Neither of you know the first thing about war.”

Her temper was getting the better of her. “Well, fat lot of good that did you,” she snapped. “The king is expecting you down south in a week, and your armies are still stuck in the mud in Amaranthine.”

“Oh, I’d stop now, Rendon,” her father said with a chuckle, putting a hand on her shoulder. “The Seawolf’s taught her well – she’ll have you swabbing the deck before long.”

“She’s certainly Eleanor’s daughter,” Howe said, smiling condescendingly at her. She glowered back at him. “I do think we ought to move, though.”

“Yes, I agree,” Bryce said. “There’s some good Antivan claret in my study, why don’t we head there?”

“Father!” Rowena said in horror.

The teyrn shook his head. “No, no, Rendon’s right – we have a lot of planning to do, it would only bore the two of you. Besides,” he said quickly, seeing the spark of rage in her eyes, “you need to go find your brother. He’ll be heading off soon, and he’ll never let you live it down if you don’t manage to say goodbye.”

“Oh, right,” she said, thinking immediately of the pack she had prepared just in case someone changed their mind. “I should go see him.”

“And we’ve already made him promise not to let you sneak into the troops,” her father said, seeing the look in her eyes. “So don’t get any funny ideas, all right?” She sighed and nodded.

“If I may, Lady Rowena, might I ask you to show Eruestan to his chamber?” Duncan asked.

“Of course,” she said, smiling again at the mage. Maybe she would have to ask him for a concealing spell after all. “It’d be my pleasure.”

“All right, men, follow me,” Bryce said, leading the other two out of the hall. “This claret was a gift from my daughter-in-law’s family, it’s too good for this earth.”

Rowena watched them go and sighed loudly. “So,” she said, turning back to the mage. “How good are you at hiding things?”

He stared at her for a moment. “Like, on my person? Pretty bad.”

She snorted. “No, I mean with magic. For example, could you make me invisible?”

“Oh!” He shook his head. “Sorry, I’d be pretty bad at that, too.”

“Damn!” she said. A second thought came to her. “What about changing my face? Could you make me look old or something?”

“Sorry,” the elf said again, wincing. “I think I’d be even worse at that.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Today is getting worse and worse. Come on, the guest chambers are up in the West Tower.”

“Thank you – my lady,” he added quickly, following her out of the hall. “Sorry, I’m not used to saying that.”

“Please, call me Rowena,” she said, walking around a group of men as they cranked down one of the Great Hall’s chandeliers. “All these titles can get so stuffy – I take it there aren’t many nobles at the Circle?”

“I wouldn’t really know, honestly,” he said, watching the lamp slowly descend through the air. “They do a pretty good job of stamping out our past lives there.”

She glanced back at him. “That sounds pretty awful.”

He looked back at her and shook his head. “No, no, it’s not that bad – it’s all I ever knew, in any case.”

His face went somber as he said that; she wondered if he was feeling homesick. “It must be pretty different getting used to things out here,” she said, leading him out into the courtyard.

“There’s a lot going on, at least,” he said, smiling. “We never had to move this much at the Tower.”

“Because you could use magic, right?” she asked. He looked up at her and nodded. “So, wait,” she said, suddenly excited. She grabbed his arm and led him to the back corner of the courtyard, well out of the way of anyone working. “Could you do some magic right now?” she asked, peering into his face with glee.

He frowned. “Here?”

“Yeah, why not?” she said. “What, is the lighting bad? Can you only do it at night?”

“What? No, it’s not that,” he said, looking around at all the people. “It’s just, Duncan told me magic makes most people a little…uncomfortable.”

She scoffed and waved her hand. “Oh, please, people will be afraid of anything, that means nothing. Besides, you’re with a Cousland! What are they going to do?”

“Burn me at the stake?” She scoffed again and nudged him forward. “All right, fine,” he said nervously, checking to see if anyone was looking. He then took a deep breath and held out his hands. “ _Lumen_.”

Rowena gasped in delight. A ball of white light had appeared between his hands, brightening up their faces before disappearing as quickly as it had come. “That’s so cool!” she said. “I wish I could do that!”

“Did I just hear you admit to something you can’t do?” someone said behind her. Rory was walking up to them, a look of wonder on his face. “How hard did you hit me on the head earlier?”

“Not hard enough, apparently,” she shot back. “And for your information, I was talking about magic, which is the one thing I will freely admit to not being able to do.”

“She can’t sing for shite, either, but she’ll still try to,” Rory said to the elf. “Why were you talking about magic, though?”

Rowena showed off the mage. “Because we just so happen to be in the presence of a mage,” she said proudly. “Rory, this is Ser…shite.” She had completely forgotten his name.

“Ah, Ser Shite!” Rory said, mock-bowing before him. “Of the Edgehall Shites, I presume?”

“It’s actually Surana,” the elf said with a smirk. “Eruestan Surana. And you don’t need to call me ‘ser’.”

“Yes, Eruestan Surana, my apologies,” Rowena said, flushing. “And of course we’re going to call you ‘ser’! You’re going to be a Grey Warden!”

“A Grey Warden?” Rory said in surprise. He bowed sincerely this time, clearly taken aback. “Forgive me, I didn’t know. I’m honored to meet you, Ser Eruestan.”

“Wow,” Rowena said. “So everyone really does know who the Grey Wardens are, don’t they?”

“Ignore her, all she knows how to do is hit people with a stick,” Rory said. She punched his arm and smiled innocently at Eruestan. “So what brings you to Highever, Warden?”

“I’m not a Warden yet,” Eruestan said, flushing. “And actually, I’m partly here because of you.”

Rory didn’t seem to understand. “Because of me?”

“He’s telling the truth,” Rowena said, grinning broadly. “Rory, they want to recruit you! You’re going to become a Warden!”

The knight looked back and forth between their faces, trying to figure out what she meant. “You’re joking,” he said. “You paid him to say that, didn’t you?”

She huffed. “Rory, I would never pay a stranger to lie to you just for a joke.” He raised an eyebrow. “Well, not a second time, at least. We’re telling the truth! This is real!”

He had started blinking rapidly. “They…they want…me?” he asked, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “I’m going to become a Grey Warden? This is incredible! I can’t believe it!” He looked over at Rowena in shock. “But they didn’t ask you? I don’t understand!”

Eruestan looked over at her, too. “Well, to be fair—”

“No, they came for you,” Rowena said, fighting back the urge to tell him about how her father had reacted. There was no use souring his excitement with her disappointment. “It’s like I was saying earlier, Rory, you’re a great warrior. They’re lucky to have you.”

“I can’t believe it,” he said dreamily. “Me, a Warden…” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Wait, Rowena, if I’m riding down with the Wardens, maybe you can take my place with Fergus’s men! He’s going to have an open spot in his vanguard!”

It was very, very hard to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “No, I don’t think that’s going to change much,” she said ruefully. “My parents are pretty determined to keep me up here.”

“Ah, right, that reminds me,” Rory said suddenly. “Sozinne came looking for you – your mother wants to see you in the conservatory. Apparently you have guests.”

She groaned. “More guests? Maker’s breath, I don’t know what’s worse about the Blight, the darkspawn or the social visits.”

“Well, according to Sozinne, they might actually be refugees, so maybe choose your words carefully around them,” Rory said. “From what it sounds like, she wants you up there now, though.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll go,” Rowena said, rolling her eyes. “Have to keep the Seawolf happy.” She turned back to the mage. “Do you mind, Eruestan? The conservatory is in the West Tower, too.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got nothing else to do. It might even take my mind off all this Blight business.”

“Trust me, the teyrna is much more frightening than any darkspawn,” Rory said as they started to leave the courtyard. “And whatever you do, don’t talk about her ass.”

Eruestan started. “What? Of course I wouldn’t!”

“Relax, it’s from a song,” Rowena said, shooting Ser Gilmore a look. “There’s this old sailor shanty about my parents, and unfortunately it does mention the fact that my mother had a nice ass.”

“Wait a minute,” Eruestan said. “Your mother’s _actually_ the Seawolf? From ‘The Soldier and the Seawolf’?”

Rowena looked back at him, unable to hide her pride. “Yeah,” she said. “She was a raider during King Maric’s War, and my father had to go aboard her ship to help defend Denerim against the Orlesians. That was how they met.”

“But the song was actually written about them?” Eruestan asked. She nodded, beaming with pride. “Wow,” he said in awe. “I didn’t think they really existed. This is like meeting King Calenhad!”

“No, no, stop that,” Rory warned, looking at the expression on Rowena’s face. “The Couslands don’t need anyone inflating their egos, they can barely manage the ones they have already.”

“No, keep going, Eruestan, Rory’s just jealous,” Rowena said smugly. A thought occurred to her. “Only don’t talk to her about it. She really does hate the song.”

The West Tower of Castle Cousland held the living quarters for both the teyrn’s family and his guests. Imposing and severe on the outside, the interior had been made comfortable and tasteful, filled with beautiful tapestries and fine Orlesian furniture. There were no windows on the ground floor, as the keep was meant to be the last line of defense for the family, but the air felt cooler there than in the Great Hall, and the smell of jasmine was less overpowering. Rowena’s Orlesian lady’s maid was waiting for them in the entrance, tapping her foot against the stone floor.

“There you are, my lady,” Sozinne chided, her voice betraying just a hint of a foreign accent. As always, she looked lovely, her golden hair swept into braids that fell over the shoulders of her blue silk gown. She took one look at Rowena’s hair, however, and immediately went pale. “ _Saint Créateur, tes cheveux_. Your mother’s going to kill me.”

“Oh, _calme-toi,_ Sozinne,” Rowena said. “I was just training at the beach, Mam’s going to understand.” The lady cocked an eyebrow and immediately went to work combing through the mess. “This is ridiculous,” Rowena sighed, glancing apologetically at Eruestan and Rory.

“No, what’s ridiculous is that is you have twigs in your hair,” Sozinne said, shaking her head. “Your parents did not ship me here all the way from Orlais just to have you look like a savage.”

“Well, their expectations were a little too high, then.” Sozinne huffed and tugged on her hair, making her wince slightly. “Who’s this even for?” Rowena asked as her maid swept part of her hair back to tie into a braid. “I’ve already said hello to Arl Howe, _le gros enfoiré._ ”

“Don’t use that kind of language,” Sozinne scolded. “And it isn’t him, it’s Lady Landra Loren, your mother’s friend.”

“Hoo, boy,” Rory said. “Better lock up the liquor cabinets.”

“The teyrna already has,” Sozinne said. “And that’s enough out of you, Ser Gilmore. Letting her go down to the sea today of all days – what were you thinking?” She noticed Eruestan for the first time. “And who’s this?”

“Ser Eruestan Surana, from the Circle Tower,” Rowena said. “He’s going to become a Grey Warden.”

Sozinne looked over at him, impressed. “A Grey Warden? I’m honored.” Eruestan bowed to her quickly, his face flushed.

“I’m going to become a Grey Warden, too, Sozinne,” Rory said smugly. “What do you say to that?”

“If that’s true, then the Order must be lowering its standards,” she sniffed. With one last jerk she finished tying Rowena’s hair into place. “There,” she said. “You’re finally presentable.”

“Well, thank the Maker for that,” Rowena said, stepping away from her. “Shall we head upstairs?”

The conservatory was the newest room in the castle, one of her parents’ most recent pet projects. It was designed after something they had seen in Orlais: a room filled entirely with plants, a way to keep a garden running even in the middle of winter. Her mother had taken to spending her mornings there, and Rowena had to admit that it had become one of the nicer rooms in the whole building.

As they walked in, the air began to fill with the sounds of running water and polite conversation. Teyrna Eleanor was standing by a fountain in the center of the room, chatting casually with a very tired looking woman and her son. “The room itself is as old as the castle, but Bryce and I had the idea to turn it into a conservatory only a year ago,” her mother was saying. “Evidently it’s all the rage in Orlais. We were of course afraid of the cost, but now that it’s finished I’m just so glad to have it.” Eleanor caught a glimpse of them out of the corner of her eye and smiled at Rowena. “Ah, there you are, darling. You remember Lady Landra, of course?”

Rowena curtsied before her mother’s guests. It had always amazed her how her mother was able to be gracious to so many awful people, but then again her mother had always amazed her in general. Looking at the polished, straight-backed woman standing before her, it was impossible to imagine that she was the same Eleanor Mac Eanraig who had terrorized the Waking Sea back during the Rebellion. “Lady Landra,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Lady Landra was a shriveled, tight-lipped woman who always looked a little harried. “Lady Rowena,” she said, curtsying. “I think the last time I saw you was at your mother’s spring salon last year.”

“Oh!” Rowena said, genuinely surprised. “You remember that?”

Rory sniggered from behind her; the teyrna just sighed. “My daughter, the diplomat, Landra. Do forgive her.”

Lady Landra sniffed and pursed her lips even tighter. “I don’t believe I had that much to drink,” she said, adjusting her shawl around her shoulders.

“Mother, we had to drag you off a table,” a tall, handsome young man standing next to her said bluntly. “Your breath alone could have blown up the castle.”

“You remember my son Dairren, Lady Rowena?” Lady Landra asked, a horribly false smile plastered across her face. “He’s not married either.”

“I believe my mother tried to marry us off the last time we met as well,” Dairren said, bowing.

“Better not meet a third time, then,” Rowena joked, curtsying back. “We might be forced to elope.”

“There is nothing wrong with marriage between equals,” Lady Landra said irritably. “Although I suppose it does pale in comparison to the joys of plunging your blade through someone’s chest.”

“I rather think they’re comparable, Landra,” the teyrna said, cutting off her daughter’s outraged reply. “Maker knows I saw my fair share of fighting throughout my youth. But of course,” she said quickly, appeasing the look on her friend’s face, “I do credit the softer arts with getting myself a husband.”

“It seems some of us greatly prefer one to the other,” Lady Landra replied, her lips getting so thin Rowena was convinced they were about to collapse into themselves.

“A good thing, too,” Dairren shot in. “Lady Rowena’s presence will be most welcome down at Ostagar.”

Rowena’s mood darkened even further. “I’m afraid I won’t be joining the king’s forces down south,” she said. “Sers Gilmore and Surana, however, will more than make up for me.”

Eleanor started. “Oh, heavens, Landra, what is the matter with me today? Allow me to introduce to you Mademoiselle Sozinne de Chantres, Ser Roderick Gilmore and…” The teyrna blinked. “Forgive me, darling, but who on earth is this?”

“This is Eruestan Surana, Mother, from the Mage’s Circle,” Rowena explained. “He’s the Grey Wardens’ newest recruit.”

“They let _elves_ in the Grey Wardens?” Lady Landra said in shock; the rest of the humans in the room looked to the floor, embarrassed.

Eruestan, however, merely shrugged and said, “I guess so.”

“Well, at least you have your magic,” Landra said. She pointed to the elven maid standing behind her. “Iona here never seems to do much of anything.”

Iona blushed and curtsied. She looked very meek, which Rowena imagined couldn’t be easy with a mistress like Lady Landra. “How do you do, Your Ladyships?” she murmured.

“Hush, girl!” Landra hissed. “How dare you address your betters like that?”

“Landra, please! She’s done nothing wrong,” Eleanor said, a little sternly. “Come now, you’ve been traveling for days. Surely you want to get a little rest?”

Lady Landra yawned softly and nodded. “I must admit, that does sound lovely,” she admitted. “The trip north was rather…exhausting…”

“Of course,” Eleanor smiled. She motioned to two elves standing at the edge of the room. “Please escort Lady Landra and her party to the guest chambers.”

“I shall see you at dinner, Eleanor,” Landra called as she was led out of the room. The teyrna smiled back at her and waved until the doors closed, at which point she sighed loudly in relief.

“Sweet Andraste, but she smelled frightfully of ale,” she said, rubbing her temples. She pulled an iron key out of her pocket and handing it to Sozinne. “Guard this key with your life, Sozinne. Otherwise she’s going to drain the wine cellars like she did last time. I just hope she didn’t have the foresight to bring her own supply.”

“I’d be surprised if she couldn’t secrete alcohol at this point,” Rowena said. “But seriously, Mam, what is she doing here? A Blight’s no time to make social calls!”

Eleanor looked at her daughter and hesitated. “Well, Pup,” she said carefully. “Apparently Landra is going to spend the rest of the Blight here with us.”

For a moment, Rowena thought she had been slapped in the face. “No.”

“I’ll admit I’m not thrilled about it, either,” Eleanor said, holding out her hands. “She certainly could have sent a letter ahead, especially considering that it somehow took six months for her to get here… But no matter. We have the space and the resources, it’d be uncivil of us to deny her safe harbor, especially when the darkspawn have already begun ravaging her home.”

Rowena was shaking her head. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s the worst thing about this Blight.”

“Rowena Cousland, don’t be so flippant,” her mother said. “In any case, it’s a big castle, Pup. You’ll hardly even know she’s here.”

An elven servant walked up to them, his face smeared with grease and flour. “Beg pardon, Your Grace,” he said nervously, bowing before her. “I’m sorry for the state of me – Nan’s sent me up from the kitchens, apparently the Mabari—”

“Has gotten into the larder again,” Eleanor sighed. “Rowena, you told me Cormac wasn’t going to do this anymore.”

“Hey, he’s a 250-pound war hound, I don’t know why we’re still surprised about this,” Rowena said. “In my opinion, we should just build him his own little door and let him eat to his heart’s content.”

“Yes, I’m sure Nan would love that,” the teyrna said drily. “Next we could suggest she let the servants take charge of the kitchen.”

“Might make the food better,” Rowena said.

“I rather think she’d poison us first,” Eleanor shot back. “With that in mind, perhaps it might be best to avoid all the trouble and try to please her?”

“I guess…” Rowena mumbled, “although Father did tell me to say goodbye to Fergus…”

“I’m asking you to go to the kitchens, darling, not Nevarra!” the teyrna said in exasperation. “You’ll have plenty of time to say goodbye to Fergus later!”

Her daughter sighed. The Seawolf was starting to show her teeth. “Fine, fine, I’ll go…”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said warmly. “I’m going to go find your father so we can meet with Fergus before he leaves – do you know where he is?”

“He’s in the study with Arl Howe and Commander Duncan of the Grey Wardens,” Rowena said. “Speaking of which, Mam, did you know that Rory is going to join the Wardens as well?”

“Are you really?” the teyrna said in surprise. “Oh, well done, Rory! Congratulations! What an immense honor!”

Rory was flushing with pride. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Sozinne muttered.

“Well, it’s wonderful news,” Eleanor said. “I really should be going – do be kind to Nan when you get there, Pup. You know how tense she gets around Cormac.”

“‘Around Cormac’, she says,” Rowena said as her mother left the room. “Nan’s been tense for the past seventeen years.”

“Huh, your former nanny, constantly tense since the time you were a baby?” Rory said. “Can’t imagine why.”

Rowena rolled her eyes. “Well, shall we head to the kitchens?”

“Please,” Rory said. “I’m starving.”

“I could use a bite to eat, too,” Eruestan admitted.

“Not me,” Sozinne said. “I have too much work to do. Besides, Nan frightens me a little.”

“Yeah, she’s terrifying,” Rowena said fondly. “Well, come on, you two. Let’s go.”

They made their way back down the stairs and through the courtyard to the Great Hall, walking through a side door at the back of the room to head down a flight of stairs leading to the basement. The harsh sounds of a dog barking and a shrill voice screaming greeted them as they reached the bottom landing.

“Well, at least she’s not swearing yet,” Rory said drily as they drew nearer to the doors.

“Give her five minutes,” Rowena muttered. Gritting her teeth, she pushed the kitchen doors open and was instantly slapped in the face with an explosion of noise. The castle’s kitchen was a large, smoke-filled basement vault stuffed with food, ale, and other provisions. The room was incredibly hot, as large lit fireplaces lined the walls to cook large vats of stew and multiple loaves of bread. On a quiet day, dozens of servants could be found running about trying to prepare food for the entire castle. With all the Cousland army waiting outside, the kitchens looked like a madhouse.  

“Somebody get that filthy mutt out of my larder!” a short elderly woman shrieked at several nervous-looking elven servants, straining to be heard over the howls coming from the next room. The barks were coming through a closed door in the back of the room; Rowena thought back fondly to the time when she had taught her dog how to close doors behind him. “I have an entire army to feed and I can’t do anything with a blasted mongrel eating up my stores!”

“But what do you want _us_ to do about it, ma’am?” one of the elves stammered. “That Mabari’d bite our hands off!”

“You’ll be lucky to lose only that if you don’t do something soon, you sodding lazy no good elves!” Nan shouted, her face turning red. “I’ll tan your hides so well the teyrna will turn them into a rug!”

“ _This_ woman helped raise you?” Eruestan said in shock. Rowena snorted and walked forward, her hands held high.

“All right, Nan, I’m here,” she started to say. However, before she could finish, the old woman began brandishing a cleaver in her face.

“ _You_ ,” she bellowed, looking slightly apoplectic. “This is your fault! How many bloody times do I have to bleeding tell you to keep that blighted mutt out of my sodding larder?”

“And there’s the swearing,” Rory said to no one.

“What do you want me to say, Nan?” Rowena asked. “He just really likes you!”

Nan was not amused. “Ten years, milady! I’ve dealt with that dirty mutt for ten blasted years!”

“He’s a Mabari war hound, Nan, not a mutt,” Rowena protested. At the look on her former nanny’s face, however, she threw up her hands again in defeat. “Okay, okay, I’ll get him out.”

“And it’s about bloody time,” Nan growled. “Go on, then!”

Rowena rolled her eyes, grinned, and cautiously opened the pantry door. There, among the piles of flour bags and mounds of sausage and cheese, they found a dog the size of a small tiger barking vigorously at a barrel in the corner.

“That’s a _dog_?” Eruestan asked in disbelief.

“Dog, bear, demon – it depends on who you ask, really,” Rory said.

Rowena ignored both of them and quickly ruffled the dog’s head. “There you are, Cormy,” she cooed. “Did you find your way into the larder again? Did you?”

The hound blinked and wagged his tail momentarily for his mistress before continuing to bark at the barrel.

“What’s the matter, boy?” she asked, frowning.

“Rowena, he’s a dog,” Rory said. “A smart dog, sure, but he doesn’t need a reason to bark at something.”

“Cormac’s smarter now than you’ll ever be, Rory,” she shot back. “You know he only comes here to eat – if he’s barking like this, it means something.” She paused and furrowed her eyebrows. “I think…I think there’s something behind that barrel. Here, help me push it.”

Rory stared at her for a moment, and then sighed and stooped to help her. “I’m a Grey Warden now,” he huffed, flexing as he pushed. “I shouldn’t have to do this.”

“You’re not a Grey Warden yet, you wimp,” Rowena grunted, putting her back into it. The barrel slowly slid aside, leaving deep marks on the stone beneath it. “Now let’s see what—”

She stopped as she saw what lay behind the barrel. Stretching out into the blackness was a small tunnel leading to Maker knew where.

She poked her head in; it was enough space for one person to crawl through. “What on earth—”

At that moment, there was a slight rustling in the darkness, and suddenly something shot out of the tunnel and launched itself at her face. She dove backwards, and with a howl Cormac lunged forward and buried his teeth into whatever had jumped out at her. Shaking his head twice, he flung it vigorously to the wall, where it collided with a sound like cracking eggshells and slumped to the floor.

“What was that?” Rory asked.

Eruestan peered over the corpse. “It’s a rat,” he said in wonder. “A giant, deformed—”

Suddenly, Cormac started barking again, and a whole horde of rats started pouring out of the tunnel. With a yelp, Rowena smashed the first one’s head in with her boot, then kicked another right into Cormac’s mouth. There was flash of steel from behind her, and suddenly Rory was facing down the rodents with his sword.

Before either of them could do anything else, Rowena heard Eruestan mutter something under his breath, and suddenly a cone of fire rippled out from his fingers. For a few seconds, the rats jumped back, shrieking in pain. Then they all collapsed, smoking slightly.

Rowena stared in shock as the flames died down. “Nice trick,” she said to the mage. “Although the kitchen does smell something fierce now.”

“It was the only thing I could think of,” he said apologetically. “I don’t think I’ve got anything for the smell, unfortunately.”

Rowena turned to Rory, who was still clutching his weapon with white knuckles. “So what exactly was the plan here?” she asked, snorting. “Were you just going to hold it out for them so they could throw themselves on it?”

He shook his head, face pale. “I don’t like rats,” he stammered. “Especially not big ones.”

“These aren’t any ordinary rats,” Eruestan said quietly, bending over the one that had been chucked against the wall. “Look at this.”

Rowena peered at it and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Whatever had happened to these rats, it had not been pleasant. Not only were they three times the size of any other rat she’d ever seen, but their bodies were also horribly mutated. Their faces had shriveled back, revealing wickedly sharp black teeth, and somehow hideous spikes had sprouted out of their skin, covering every inch of their tiny bodies.

“That’s disgusting,” Rory said.

Rowena nodded slowly. “Here, help me block this again,” she said shakily, motioning to the tunnel.

“Where do you think it leads?” Rory grunted as they pushed the barrel back.

“I don’t think we want to find out,” Eruestan said, grimacing.

Rowena wrinkled her nose again and patted her hound on the head. “Good boy, Cormac!” she cooed, smoothing his fur. “Finding all those nasty rats for us!”

“Yes, thank you ever so much,” Rory said weakly.

There was a loud knock on the door. “Milady?” Nan called. “Is it done? Was that fire we heard in there?”

“It’s all right, Nan, we’re coming out,” Rowena shouted back. “Quick, grab some food,” she hissed. She and Rory immediately began shoving fruits and sausage under their training armor while Eruestan and Cormac stared at them, both equally bemused. Carrying enough food to make her waddle, Rowena finally pushed open the door and found the entire kitchen staff gathered outside waiting expectantly.

“There you are, you filthy scoundrel,” Nan snapped, pointing at Cormac. “I expect you’ve eaten all my stores, haven’t you?”

“Actually, Nan, Cormac was _saving_ the larder,” Rowena said, taking care to keep the apple lodged in her belt from falling out. “He was trying to warn you about the rat swarm within the walls.”

“Rat… _swarm_ , milady?” one of the servants squeaked.

Rowena blinked. “Uh…well, I mean, ‘swarm’ may be a bit of an exaggera—”

“I don’t want to work around a bunch of rats!” another elf said. “Those things spread disease, you know!”

Nan groaned. “Now look what you’ve done! It’ll take me ages to get this lot calm enough to start working again! Do you _ever_ think before you speak?”

Rowena smiled back feebly. “I can’t tell if this is a good time or not to let you know that there are roughly fifteen smoldering rat corpses that need to be cleaned up in the larder.” At that moment, the apple fell loose and landed on the ground.

Nan watched it roll under one of the counters and then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Remember, Greta, you signed up for this,” she said to herself, picking up a broom and shuffling back to the larder. “This job is entirely your own fault.”

“Have a good day, Nan!” Rowena called over her shoulder as the old woman disappeared into the back of the pantry.

“You know, one of these days she’s going to kill someone,” Rory said, scarfing down some cheese as they turned to leave.

Rowena nodded as she chewed on a piece of bread. “It’s why I check for poison in all of my meals now – here, Eruestan, have a sausage.” They stepped back into the Great Hall, taking deep breaths of the fresh air. Clean-up from the night before had almost ended, and Rowena was able to enjoy a moment’s peace. “So, where are you headed now?” she asked Rory.

“To see that Grey Warden,” he replied, grinning. “I wonder if there’s some sort of test I need to pass or something…”

“Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t involve rats,” Rowena said seriously. “You’ll never make it into the Order then.”

He sighed. “And just when I thought I’d slipped something past you…”

“Good luck!” she said cheerfully. He grimaced in return and made his way out towards the teyrn’s study.

Rowena glanced back at her other companion and grinned sheepishly. “I suppose I’d better finally take you to your quarters,” she said. “Unless, of course, someone asks us to kill cockroaches in the dining room. In that case, that fire spell might just come in handy again.”

The elf shuddered. “I think that’s enough vermin for one day, sorry.” He grinned and then paused. “If you wouldn’t mind, actually,” he said, “I think I’d much rather go to the library than to my room.”

Rowena stared at him in surprise. Willingly going to the library was a decision akin to willingly throwing oneself off a cliff. “If you want, sure,” she said dubiously, “although I will warn you, that is the lair of one of the dullest scholars in all of Thedas.”

“I was raised by dull scholars,” Eruestan said with a smile. “I’ll feel right at home.”

“Whatever you say, then,” she said, shrugging. “Actually, if you head back to the West Tower, the library’s on the second floor, off the conservatory. Just follow the sounds of someone snoring.”

“Oh, excellent!” Eruestan said, grinning. “Thank you! I’ll see you later, then?”

She laughed in disbelief as he raced out of the hall. The elf was certainly different from most people she’d met.

At that moment, the bells in the village chantry began to chime, marking the changing hour. Cormac began to whine at her side. “Oh, Maker’s breath, you’re right, boy!” Rowena gasped. “Come on, let’s go find Fergus!”

The two of them quickly ran out into the courtyard, ready to make their way into the village if they had to. Fortunately, there was no need for that. Her brother, his wife, and their son were standing at the courtyard fountain, talking earnestly to each other. “Ah, there’s my little sister!” Fergus boomed, walking over to her and wrapping her in a bear hug. She smiled and buried her face in his chest. “I was worried you weren’t coming to see me off!”

“And miss finally being able to get rid of you forever? Never!” She broke away and smiled at him broadly. Fergus had been her hero growing up, and even now she couldn’t have asked for a better older brother. Gentle and kind, he had always supported her during her training, even when she ended up besting him in the field. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, scratching the back of Cormac’s neck. “Mam and Da had me running around all morning.”

“Probably to keep you from trying to sneak among the troops when no one was looking,” Fergus teased.

“Oh, don’t rub it in,” she said, annoyed. “And to be fair, Cormac did break into the larder again.”

Someone tsked behind Fergus’s shoulder. Oriana, Fergus’s Antivan wife, walked up to them holding their four-year-old son Oren’s hand. “All your hound does is break into the kitchens,” she purred in her thick accent. “You might as well build a door for him.”

“That’s what I said!” Rowena exclaimed. “Mam didn’t think Nan would agree, though.”

“And for good reason,” Fergus said. “I’d take the Blight over seeing Nan’s reaction to that any day.”

Rowena scowled, finally feeling free enough to express her mind. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re the one going south, then,” she muttered.

Fergus sighed. “Oh, no. They warned me about this.”

It was her last chance. “Fergus, please,” she said, trying to make her eyes wide. “Please, if you’ve ever loved me, _please_ let me come with you—”

He was shaking his head emphatically. “No way, Wena. I’ve had it from both the Soldier _and_ the Seawolf, I’d have to be some kind of stupid to let you come now.”

“Fergus, you don’t understand,” Rowena said desperately. “Lady Landra is staying here until the Blight is over.”

Oriana looked over at her sharply. “What was that?”

Rowena nodded emphatically. “She’s staying with us in the West Tower.”

Oriana looked back at her husband. “Please let me come south with you, too, _Tesoro_.”

“Now, stop that, both of you,” Fergus laughed, holding up his hands. “I’ll admit, Landra’s a bit of a basket case, but at least you’ll all be safe up here. And Wena, I’ll feel especially glad that you and Mother are here while Father and I are gone. I’ll be leaving my family in good hands.”

Rowena smiled at him quizzically. “You don’t actually mean that, do you?” she asked. “We’re going to stop this thing at Ostagar, there’s no way it’ll make it all the way up here.”

He shrugged, his face suddenly grim. “Oriana’s been telling me stories about the last Blight, in Antiva,” he murmured, trying to keep Oren from overhearing him. “I’m just feeling…jumpy, I guess. Anyways, I’ll be glad to know you’re here to help defend the castle all the same.”

“Defend the castle from what, Papa?” Oren asked. “Will there be dragons?”

“Don’t sound so excited about that, my love!” Oriana said, looking back at him in surprise. “Dragons are horrible creatures, Oren, you would not want to see one.”

Her son wasn’t paying any attention to her. “Fear me and my sword of truthiness, dire bunnies! _I’m_ the lord of this castle!”

“Oh, Oren, really,” Oriana began; Rowena, however, bent down quickly, cutting her off.

“Dire bunnies?” she asked, eyes wide with fear. “But those are the worst kind! Where are they?”

Oren stopped and looked at her eagerly. “They’re on the rapparts, Auntie! Let’s go before they eat Granma!”

“They’re called ‘ramparts’, Oren, and, ah, _mia sorella_? Perhaps we ought to keep him here for now?” Oriana asked drily. Rowena winked and flung the giggling four-year-old over her shoulder. “Honestly, Fergus, your family…”

“What?” he asked. “He just cares about his grandmother.”

“I like the sound of that,” someone said from behind them. The group turned to see Bryce and Eleanor approach from the West Tower. “Although, I will say, dearest, that the ones we need most worry about are you and your father.”

Fergus waved her off. “Oh, Mother, you worry too much! I’ll be fine!”

“Your mother is right, Fergus!” Oriana said, touching the amulet of Andraste hanging around her neck. “I must say my heart is very…disquiet.”

“Fergus will be fine,” Rowena said. “There are rumors that this isn’t even a real Blight.”

Oriana shook her head. “The darkspawn should not be underestimated,” she said, drawing the Circle of Holy Flame on her forehead. “Don’t forget, the last Blight occurred in my country. Antiva was completely destroyed the last time these monsters came to the surface.”

“Yeah, like 400 years ago,” Rowena muttered under her breath. Fighting back a smile, Eleanor nudged her in the ribs and kept her from speaking up.

Oriana, however, had already bowed her head. “ _Santo Creatore_ ,” she prayed, “watch over your children as we struggle against the fiends of darkness. Carry us in your heart, and provide shelter for our braves soldiers along their dangerous journey.”

“We wouldn’t mind a few brothels, either, while you’re at it!” Fergus chimed in, grinning broadly. He, Rowena, and the teyrn began to chuckle – however, all three of them quickly developed a cough after seeing the looks on Oriana and Eleanor’s faces. “Erm…just for the soldiers, of course.”

“Honestly, Fergus, you would say such things in front of your mother?” Oriana said, horrified.

“What’s a brothel, Papa?” Oren asked innocently. “Is that where Nan gets broth for a stew?”

“A brothel is where men and women go to meet each other, Oren,” Bryce explained. “And then do…other things.”

“Bryce!” Eleanor scolded, hitting his shoulder. “Maker’s breath, it’s like raising two Mabari pups! Fortunately, I have…a daughter…” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Rowena, who was busy making a rather obscene gesture in response to her father’s comment, much to her brother’s amusement. Realizing she was being observed, Rowena coughed loudly again and ran a hand through her hair.

“So,” she said, blushing, “when are you heading off?”

“Soon,” Fergus said, still chuckling. “We’re just waiting for Mother Mallol – the men will want a blessing before they leave.”

“Ask, and the Maker responds,” a voice said from the other side of the courtyard. A handsome woman dressed in the robes of a Chantry priestess approached the Couslands and bowed. “My apologies, Your Grace. I was administering some last-minute prayers in the chapel.”

“No problem at all, Mallol,” Bryce said. “We’re still more that ahead of schedule.”

“That being said, whenever you’re ready, we should probably get started,” Fergus said. “I want to have the whole day to travel.”

Eleanor sighed and gave her son a long hug. “Do be careful, my darling boy,” she said, eyes glistening with tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Mam,” he said. “And don’t you worry about me – I’ll be back before you know it, trust me.” He turned to his father. “I’ll see you in a week, then, Da.”

Bryce nodded and hugged his son as well. “Make sure the men have plenty of rest, and let Cailan know Rendon and I are on our way. I’d hate for the battle to begin without us.”

Oriana was crying softly by the time Fergus went to say goodbye. “Stay safe, _amore mio_ ,” she said, trying to smile. “I shall count the minutes that you are away.”

“I’ll be sure to hurry home, then,” Fergus said, smiling. He kissed her gently. “Don’t cry, love. This, uh, _flagilla_ , will be over before you can say ‘archdemon’.”

“It’s ‘ _flagello’_ ,” she said, giggling through her tears. “We’ll have to work on your Antivan once you get back.”

“Bring me back a sword, Papa!” Oren cried from Rowena’s shoulder. “I want to fight darkspawn, too!”

“You’ll see a sword of your own soon enough, Oren,” Fergus laughed, picking him up off his sister’s back. “Now, be a good boy, listen to your mother, and help your auntie and Granma defend the castle while I’m gone, ok?”

Oren stared at him solemnly, nodded, and looked over to Rowena and Eleanor. “I am ottered to serve you, Lady Auntie and Lady Granma.”

“It’s ‘honored’, Oren,” Oriana began; Rowena, however, bowed just as solemnly and said, “Believe me, the otter is all mine.”

Fergus chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, setting his son down. “I’m going to miss you, Wena,” he said.

“I’ll miss you, too,” she said quietly. “Be sure to kill a lot of darkspawn for me.”

“Shall I also send a certain royal someone your deepest regards?” he asked, winking.

She gave him a nasty look. “I was thirteen when I told you I fancied King Cailan, Fergus. Thirteen!”

“And now your love has fully blossomed!” Rowena responded to this with a swift kick to his shin.

“I hate to tear apart such an endearing farewell,” Eleanor said as Fergus hopped around on one foot, swearing, “but I believe now would be a good time to send our troops off – provided, of course, their fearless leader is able to compose himself?”

“Almost there,” he panted. “Good kick, Wena.”

“I know,” she replied smugly.

Fergus gave her a rude gesture, grinned broadly, and set his foot down. “All right, then. I suppose it’s time.”

He climbed on top of his horse and rode out of the castle gates to join his men. The army had lined up outside of the castle gates, stretching down to the village in the morning sun. The rest of the Cousland family stood at the crest of the hill just outside the castle walls, waving to their soldiers. Upon seeing the teyrn and his family, the army began to cheer loudly, pumping their fists and shaking their spears.   

Rowena waved, smiling broadly even as her heart sank. This was supposed to be _her_ moment. _She_ was supposed to be cheering with them; _she_ was supposed to be leaving with Fergus. It simply didn’t seem fair.

“Men,” Bryce boomed, his voice thundering over the crowd, “you leave to fight a greater evil than any of us have ever faced. You follow my son, Lord Fergus, to the heart of the darkspawn scourge to defend your families, your homes, and your country. Soon, I will join you with the forces of Amaranthine, and together with the king we will defeat this Blight! We will fight for Highever! We will fight for Ferelden! We will fight for our lives themselves!”

The crowd roared, voices echoing off of the stones of the castle. Exchanging a small nod with the teyrn, Mother Mallol stepped forward and shouted, “The Maker is our shepherd!”

“He keeps stock over his children,” the crowd shouted back.

“He is the lantern in the dark.”

“He provides light to show his children the way.”

Absentmindedly repeating the words of the Chant of Light, Rowena suddenly saw something out of the corner of her eye that made her do a double-take. One of Arl Howe’s men was standing apart from the crowd a little way’s off in the distance, staring intently at the castle walls. The man even seemed to be taking notes. Frowning, she turned to say something to her mother. However, the despondent look on the teyrna’s face immediately chased the soldier from her mind.

“Are you all right?” she murmured, sidling next to her.

“Hm?” the teyrna asked, keeping her eye on Fergus. “Oh, yes, darling, I’m fine. I just…there’s a terrible feeling about all of this that I just can’t put my finger on.”

Rowena frowned. “You shouldn’t worry about Fergus, Mam. he’s a very capable warrior.”

“Oh, I know, Pup,” Eleanor said, smiling. “But still, I just can’t shake…” She suddenly turned to face her daughter. “I love you very much. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Rowena said, taken aback by the anxious ferocity on her mother’s face. “I love you, too.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to say more. However, at that moment Mallol finished her blessing, and Fergus rode his horse forward to turn back and address the crowd.

“All right, men!” he shouted. “Let’s move out!”

The troops erupted into cheers as drums began to play in the village. With one last wave to his family, Fergus kicked his stirrups and sent his horse into a trot, marching his vanguard away from the castle and beginning the army’s descent down south.

As her brother disappeared into the village, Rowena saw her mother tremble slightly. “Oh, Mam, he’ll be fine,” Rowena said, wrapping an arm around her as they turned from the crowd. “He’ll be back before we know it.”

“I suppose you’re right, aren’t you?” Eleanor replied, smiling sadly.

“Of course I am,” Rowena said as they walked back into the castle. “Just you wait and see.” 


	8. The Fall of the House of Cousland

The next few days carried on as they normally did at Castle Cousland. Rowena’s mornings were spent on the training ground, while her evenings were busy entertaining the castle’s guests. Although she already deeply missed her brother, the flurry of activity kept her too busy to think of him. Besides, the Blight would be over soon enough, she told herself in the odd moments when she was left alone with her thoughts. Fergus would be back to annoy her before she knew it.

The break in routine finally came late on the fourth day, just after she finished sparring with Rory. Arl Howe’s vanguard finally arrived, announcing that the rest of Amaranthine’s troops were soon to follow. 

“It’s about time,” she murmured to Rory as they watched the soldiers file into the courtyard. “At this rate, the Blight will be over and done with by the time they get to Ostagar.”

“Duncan says we should have enough time to get down there, all the same,” the knight replied, absent-mindedly nursing a welt Rowena had given him on the side of his neck. “They still haven’t seen the main horde, apparently. The only fighting they’ve had is a few skirmishes deep within the Wilds.”

Rowena raised her eyebrows. Rory had been vaunting his Grey Warden status a lot over the past few days, and as gracious as she was trying to be it was getting a bit grating. “You’ve been talking to him a lot, then?” she asked, leaning against the castle wall.

He nodded. “We’ve all been meeting after dinner for the past two nights. He’s a very interesting man – a true hero.”

“That’s great,” she said, trying her hardest to keep her jealously in check. “What about Eruestan?”

Rory shrugged. “He keeps to himself, mainly in the library. He’s a little shy whenever I show up – I think he likes me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You think _every_ man likes you, Rory.”

“And I’m usually right, aren’t I?” he asked, grinning. “Regardless, it doesn’t matter. Duncan won’t say why or how he left the Circle, but I’m guessing it wasn’t under the best circumstances, judging from how they’ve been acting. Hopefully it won’t be a problem down south…”

Rowena sighed. “I still can’t believe you’re going without me.”

“Neither can I,” he said, turning towards her. “Duncan has no idea what he’s missing.” She shrugged and started kicking at a few loose rocks on the ground. “Cheer up, though,” he said. “We have to leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow.”

“That still sounds loads better that staying here,” Rowena grumbled. “Mam’s spent too much time with Lady Wine-dra and has somehow gotten it into her head that Dairren might be the perfect match for me.”

“Personally, I think Dairren would be more pleased with Fergus – but then, what do I know about foppish young noblemen?” Rory said, grinning wolfishly.

"You’re kidding!” Rowena gasped. “Well, that explains why he spent most of tea yesterday staring at one of the servants.”

“What do you think about him, though?” Rory asked casually, examining his sword. “Is he nice?”

“For the most part, yeah.” She shrugged. “A bit pompous, I guess, but he’s funny enough.”

The knight stroked his chin. “Hm…interesting…”

Rowena squinted at him. She suddenly had an idea of what was going on. “Why do you ask?”

Rory started playing with his gauntlet. “Oh, no reason. Just curious.”

It was her turn to grin wolfishly. “If it were up to me, I’d say a certain foppish young nobleman is about to make someone’s last night at Highever remarkably sweeter…,” she said, eyes gleaming. “But then what do I know about conceited young knights?”

“Conceited young Grey Wardens, thank you very much,” the knight replied, winking. Something across the courtyard caught his eye. “I’d get into the details, but I don’t think you’ll be here long enough to listen to them.”

“Hm?” She turned around to see Sozinne march across the courtyard towards her, wrinkling her nose at the manure and the soldiers. “Oh, no, not already…”

“Why do you always choose to stand near the largest piles of horse shite?” her lady’s maid asked, pinching her nose and lifting her skirts above her ankles. “Time to put the swords down, mademoiselle, we need to get you dressed for tonight.”

Rowena sighed and handed Rory her blade. “Duty calls,” she said. “Good luck tonight, though!”

“As if luck has anything to do with it!” the knight called back. Rowena waved him off and entered the castle with her maid.

“You know, you still amaze me to this day, mademoiselle,” Sozinne said as they hurried into the West Tower. “In Orlais, a lady of your stature would never be allowed to roll around in the shite and muck with her father’s soldiers.”

“To be fair, Rory’s usually the one that does most of the rolling,” Rowena countered. “And since when do you say ‘shite’ so much? What happened to ‘In Orlais, a lady’s mouth is like a flower’?”

Sozinne sighed. “It’s this country – I smell like wet dog now, too. My family wouldn’t even recognize me.” The two women had to step aside as a team of servants bustled past them, carrying a large, rolled-up tapestry from one of the rooms upstairs. “The plans have changed for tonight, though,” Sozinne explained as they began making their way up the stairs. “Now that the arl’s men are here, your parents are trying to throw together a feast for the soldiers before they leave tomorrow morning.”

Rowena scowled. “Great – Mam’s going to be on the war path.”

“Her Grace does seem a little more tense than usual,” Sozinne said carefully. “She has something else planned for us, too, but she wasn’t able to tell me – oh!” A man was charging down the staircase at them from the family quarters. Dressed in a suit of Howe armor, he had a strange, leering face and seemed very annoyed to run into the two of them.

“I beg your pardon!” Sozinne said sharply. “Who are you?”

The man took his time to answer her, and Rowena immediately felt wary. “Nobody, miladies,” he rasped, bowing before them.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” the maid said coldly. “You are in the presence of the teyrn’s daughter, Nobody, and you are in the private quarters of the castle. Explain yourself!”

The man ran his eyes over Rowena, his gaze lingering just a little too long. She found herself reaching for the hilt of the sword she no longer had with her. “My apologies,” he said finally. “It’s such a big castle, milady, I thought I’d take a look around.”

“Well…don’t do that,” Rowena said stupidly, unable to think of anything better to say.

Howe’s man took a step down towards them, a strange look in his eye. For one horrifying moment Rowena had the overwhelming feeling that he had something terrible in mind; she dropped her left leg to the step below, ready to attack him if she needed to. However, before anything could happen, another shadow appeared at the top of the stairs. “Darling, what’s going on?” Eleanor said, her voice echoing against the stones. “Who’s this?”

“One of Arl Howe’s men, Mother,” Rowena said, her calm flooding back. “He says he’s lost.”

“The officers’ barracks are off the courtyard along the east wall of the castle,” the teyrna said. She had raised her eyebrows slightly, looking coldly at the man before her. “You are currently in the teyrn’s personal quarters.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” the man said, bowing. “I must have been mistaken.”

“Obviously,” Eleanor replied. “You may take your leave now.”

With a final bow, the soldier slid down the stairs, shooting Rowena a final leer. Staring at him in contempt, she spun around and joined her mother at the top of the stairs.

“Honestly, Rendon’s put the strangest men in his vanguard,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “Just an hour ago I found two of them skulking around the treasury.”

“Good thing they’re going down south, then,” Rowena said, walking into her bedchamber.

“Yes, that’s what I keep telling myself – gives me a bit of perspective, too,” her mother replied, following her into the room. Rowena’s bedroom was a large, warm chamber filled with rich tapestries and comfortable, sturdy furniture. In the winter, thick carpets and the giant fireplace chased away the chills that blew in from the Waking Sea. Now that it was summer, however, the windows looking out onto the water had been opened, letting in a soothing breeze that made the light curtains hanging on her bed flutter gently. A large bronze tub had been brought into the middle of the room, already filled with steaming hot water. “Sozinne, help me get her into the bath,” her mother said. “I still have a lot to prepare for tonight and we don’t have much time.”

The two women began a long-practiced ritual of armor removal, unfastening ties and gently setting the hardy Antivan metal on the bed. Once she was fully undressed, Sozinne quickly swept Rowena’s ponytail up into a bun and tied it there with a ribbon. Checking to make sure it was in place, Rowena walked over to the tub and stepped in, easing herself into the water.

With a sigh, she settled back and let the warmth seep through her body. Normally after she trained she cleaned off with cold water, just like the other knights in the castle. On the days she had to be a lady, however, the bronze tub came out. But Rowena was the last to complain about that. It was hard to deny the pleasures of a warm bath after a long day of training, no matter how soft it made her feel.

“I’m afraid you don’t have long in there, darling,” Eleanor said, helping Sozinne lay out gowns on her bed. “We really need to get started as soon as we can.”

Rowena grimaced and began scrubbing herself with a dainty scented soap flower from Orlais. “What’s the rush? We’ve got time before the banquet starts, don’t we?”

“Yes, well, I’ve got something planned for you beforehand,” the teyrna said, smoothing out a bit of velvet on the mattress. “Sozinne, dear, make sure this armor gets sent back down to the training grounds.” The Orlesian nodded and placed it on a table near the door to be carted away afterwards. “Anyways, Pup, Landra and I have put together a little gathering for you young people before the banquet starts.”

“‘Young people’?” Rowena asked, motioning that she was ready to exit the tub.

“Oh, you know, you and Sozinne and Ser Gilmore,” Eleanor said, handing her a towel. “Ser Surana as well, if he wants…and then Lord Dairren, too.”

She had said it too casually – Rowena stopped drying herself off for a moment to give the teyrna a look. “Subtle, Mam.”

“What?” Eleanor said innocently, leading her to her gowns. “Nothing like a nice little party full of people your own age.”

“Particularly one that could end in a marriage arrangement,” Rowena finished.

Her mother gave her a sly smile. “Well, if that happens, all the better! Dairren’s a nice boy – and you’re not the only ones we’ve got eyes on, for your information. Landra’s also letting that poor Iona come along – I think she wants to marry her off to Ser Surana.”

Rowena snorted. “Right, that’s a natural couple.”

Eleanor sighed. “Yes, unfortunately, I think Landra saw two elves and decided to throw them together. Which gown, darling?”

“The green one,” Rowena said. The material was lighter, which was crucial for the heat of a summer banquet. “And speaking of Lady Landra, she might not be too happy with Rory’s presence at this ‘party’.”

The teyrna frowned as she and Sozinne began to pull the gown over Rowena’s head. “And why’s that?”

“Because,” her daughter said, adjusting the dress around her shoulders, “if anyone’s ending up with Dairren, it’s going to be him.”

The teyrna reflected on this for a moment, then threw up her hands in exasperation. “Honestly, for the love of the Maker! If you had half the success that boy has with _your_ suitors, you’d be married with children already!”

“Do you hear yourself?” Rowena asked, sitting down at her vanity. Sozinne immediately went to work, rubbing a soft white cream on her face that made her skin even more pale. “You really want me to get married now? You were sinking ships and terrifying Orlesians at 17.”

“I grew up during a war,” Eleanor reminded her. “We had bigger things to worry about back then. And no one’s forcing you to the altar, Pup – I just thought that if you _happened_ to fall in love with Dairren, then all the better!”

“Well, according to Rory, I’m not exactly Dairren’s type,” Rowena said firmly as Sozinne finished applying the cream. “And enough with all the marriage talk, I don’t want to think about that.”

“Even you must want to have a family one day, though?” Sozinne said, setting down the makeup and undoing Rowena’s bun. A mass of thick red hair fell down her back, tumbling over her shoulders. “Think how beautiful they’d be, with all this lovely hair.”

Rowena smiled and twirled a strand of hair through her fingers. Her hair was her weak spot, the one part of her appearance that she was proud about. “Maybe someday,” she admitted, spinning the lock she held, “but not now. There’s too much to see right now to think about that.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t complain – you do come by that honestly,” Eleanor said, taking two locks of her daughter’s hair and tying them in the back of her head. “Before the war, I was going to take one of my father’s ships and see the world. I was going to go to Minrathous, Rivain, even Par Vollen – marriage was the last thing on my mind back then, too.”

“I still can’t believe I work for _la Louve de la mer_ ,” Sozinne said, shaking her head. She placed an emerald ornament over the tie the teyrna had made in Rowena’s hair, securing it firmly in place. “You know that back home we tell stories about you to children to make them behave?”

“Yes, it’s one of my favorite things about Orlais,” the teyrna said fondly. “All that’s behind me now, though, and one day, Pup, it’ll be less important for you, too. Just don’t chase away every chance at love that knocks on your door.”

“Ah, it sounds like you were anticipating me,” Oriana said, poking her head in through the door. “No one’s going to chase me away, I hope?”

“No, no, don’t worry,” Eleanor said with a laugh. “Please, come in.”

Oriana walked inside and looked Rowena up and down. “You look absolutely lovely, Sister. That dress really brings out your eyes.”

“Doesn’t it?” Eleanor said, smiling warmly. “By the way, Oriana, could I get you to make sure everything is set up properly in the Great Hall? I have to talk to Nan about the food, and Rowena and Sozinne will be busy.”

Oriana nodded. “Unfortunately, I can’t be long, though. I came to let you know that Oren has fallen ill, and I don’t think I’ll be attending the feast tonight.”

The teyrna clucked her tongue. “Oh, the poor dear. Is he very sick?”

Oriana shook her head. “Still, I would much rather stay with him – he misses his father so much, and I don’t want him to be alone for too long.”

“Of course, dear,” Eleanor said. “We’ll be sure to send you both up some food.” Her daughter-in-law smiled, thanked her, and left to go to the courtyard.

Eleanor finished adjusted Rowena’s hair and stood back to examine her work. “Perfect,” she said warmly. “You’re more than ready to go to the library.”

“What?” Rowena cried, turning around in her chair. “It’s in the _library_? What did I do to deserve that?”

The teyrna smiled sheepishly. “I know, darling, I know, but all the other rooms are being used—”

“Father is the most powerful man in Ferelden, we have the largest bleeding castle in the entire country, how is that even possible—”

“—and besides,” she continued, “I know it’s been so long since Aldous has seen you, I’m sure he’d love to catch up with his old student.”

“I don’t know why we’re sending men down south,” Rowena scowled. “Obviously we have an archdemon living right under our roof.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic!” Eleanor chirped, pushing her out the door. “Sozinne, please make sure she behaves herself.”

“ _Bien sûr_ , Your Grace,” Sozinne said, following Rowena out the door.

“I know how to behave myself,” Rowena grumbled as they descended the stairs. “I’m not a child.”

“Of course not, my lady,” Sozinne said soothingly. “Don’t worry, this will probably be fun! I’ll be there, and so will Rory, and if we’re lucky Aldous will have already forgotten who you are!”

“Promises, promise,” Rowena muttered. “Let’s just hurry up, I want to get this over with as fast as possible.”

The library was on the ground floor of the West Tower and had been the stage for some of the worst parts of Rowena’s childhood. Her tutor, Aldous, had already been ancient when she was a girl, and his droning, monotone voice could put her to sleep like nothing else. After years of struggling to get her interested in her studies, her parents had finally decided that the fact that she was literate was good enough and had mercifully cut the lessons short. Rowena had made a point not to return ever since. Now, huddled with Sozinne outside the library entrance, she couldn’t help but feel that she was eight years old again.

“…in fact, my boy, Teyrna Elethea was six months pregnant at the Battle of the Waking Sea,” an ancient, tired voice wheezed into the hallway. Rowena immediately felt her eyelids droop. “Her men tried to dissuade her from fighting, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Don’t make a sound,” Rowena muttered to Sozinne, beginning to sneak into the library. With any luck, Aldous wouldn’t see them, and then they could—

“Rowena!” Eruestan said brightly, freezing her in her tracks. He was waving excitedly at her, all the while staring at the old man in rapture. “Master Aldous here has been telling me all about your family’s history! I had no idea the Couslands were so prestigious!”

“Don’t bother with this one, serah,” Aldous huffed, turning to her with a frown. The one good thing about Aldous was that at least her dislike for him was mutual. “I tried for ten years to get her interested in her studies, and it all came to naught.”

“The mark of a great tutor,” Rowena quipped. “How are you, Aldous?”

“Wonderful, now that I’ve found someone who actually cares about what I have to say.” He looked down at her clothes. “Wearing a gown, are we? What, is it Satinalia already?”

She snorted. “Do you really think I’d be in the library if it were?”

“Fair enough.” He sighed and gave Eruestan a sad look. “I’m sorry to see you go, my boy. No one’s listened to any of my lessons in the past thirty years.”

“Oh, I’d love to hear more—” the elf began; before he could finish, though, Rowena stepped forward and grabbed his arm.

“Unfortunately,” she finished, “we have a social event to attend.” Grumbling, Aldous hunched his shoulders and trudged back to his books.

“Miserable old coot,” she muttered. “You all right, Eruestan?”

“I’m fine,” he said with a smile. “Actually, I’m more than fine. Your library is fantastic!”

“Isn’t it, though?” someone said behind them. They turned around to see Dairren approach through the door, followed closely by Iona. “Good evening, my ladies, Ser Eruestan.”

Rowena curtsied. “Are you much of a reader, then, Lord Dairren?”

He nodded, taking a seat at a table in the back of the room. “It’s how I’d spend all my time, if they’d let me. Unfortunately, our collection back home is nowhere near as extensive as the one here.”

“It is really impressive,” Eruestan said. “I didn’t realize they had anything like this outside of the Circle.” His ears suddenly flushed at that, as if he had remembered something unpleasant.

“Well, you’re both more than welcome to it,” Rowena said. “What about you, Iona? Are you a reader as well?”

The elf looked shocked to have been addressed by a noblewoman. “No, my lady,” she stammered, blushing. “I’m afraid I can’t read.”

It was Rowena’s turn to blush. It was unfortunately all too easy to forget that most elves were illiterate. “Ah…of course…my apologies…”

A terribly awkward silence filled the room, amplified by gentle snores from the corner where Aldous had fallen asleep.

“Well, you’re a lively bunch,” Rory said as he entered the room. “And to think I was going to apologize for being late.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rowena saw both Dairren and Iona perk up considerably. “There you are, Ser Gilmore,” she said in relief. “Where have you been?”

“That’s ‘Grey Warden Gilmore’ to you, my lady,” Rory said. “And I was occupied…with Grey Wardenly things…”

“I certainly hope they weren’t important Grey Wardenly things,” Eruestan said, eyebrow raised. Rowena noticed that the tips of his ears had turned red. “Otherwise I’m going to feel left out.”

Rory scowled. “Oh, it’s no fun when there’s another one of us around.”

“You must be very honored,” Dairren said, clearly trying to look nonchalant. “Only the bravest warriors are invited into the Grey Wardens.”

Rory shrugged. “Oh, you know, it’s such an honor to be even considered, I’m really not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, Rory, you’re too modest, you’re really quite – _is that a rat_?” Rowena jumped out of her chair, pointing in fright at the corner behind him. The knight gasped and spun around, clutching for his sword…only to see nothing there.

“I bet you think you’re very funny,” he growled, looking back as Rowena, Sozinne, and Eruestan smirked at him.

“Only marginally,” she said smugly.

 “Your wit is a grace to us all, my lady,” Dairren said. Rowena noticed that despite his words, he still hadn’t stopped staring at Rory.

“Thank you, Lord Dairren,” she said. “You flatter me with your attention.”

            “Hm? Oh, yes, yes, my pleasure,” he said quickly, blushing furiously. Rory had chosen that exact moment to wink at the young man. Rolling her eyes, Rowena turned to Eruestan, who was also determinedly not looking at the knight.  She sighed. No wonder Rory’s ego was so big.

“So what will tonight be like?” Eruestan asked, breaking the silence. “I’ve never been to a banquet before.”

"Count yourself lucky – I’ve been to too many,” Rowena replied. “There’ll be a lot of food, drink, and dancing, which means about halfway through everyone’ll get completely pissed and start smashing the furniture. I’ll be sent to bed early because it’s improper for a young lady to be around all that, and my mother will have a backache for the next month breaking up whatever brawl ends up taking place.”

“I mean, that can’t happen every time, right?” Eruestan asked. “Why throw so many feasts if it always ends up like that?”

She shrugged. “We’re nobles. It comes with the territory.”

“Aye, that it does,” Rory said, cutting in. “Along with being bossy, hot-headed, and forcing me to throw every one of our sparring sessions.”

She hit his shoulder. “The only reason you have to throw them is because you know I’ll break one of your limbs if you don’t.”

“Do you spar often, then?” Dairren asked.

“Very often,” Rory said smoothly, leaning in. “I could show you a thing or two, if you’d like.”

Dairren turned a shade of red Rowena had never seen on a human before. “I…I could…um…”

He was mercifully cut off by a sneeze. This, however, caused more problems than it solved, as no one in the group had sneezed.

“What the – Maker’s breath!” Rory stood up and reached behind a bookshelf, pulling out a pasty man crouching in the shadows.

“Who are you?” Rowena cried, rising to her feet.

The man paled and bowed before her. “Wendell, milady. I’m in Arl Howe’s service.”

Her eyes narrowed. Were _all_ of the men from Amaranthine so suspicious? “Well, either His Lordship regularly encourages spying on his hosts, or you’re about to be in serious trouble.”

“What should we do, my lady?” Rory asked coldly.

“Give him to the guards,” she said. “We’ll have Arl Howe deal with him.”

Rory grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him out of the library as he babbled excuses at her.  Rowena shook her head and sat back down. “These people are getting weirder and weirder.”

“Count yourself lucky,” Rory said, coming back into the room. “At least you don’t have to cross the country with them.”

The group’s mood was a little soured by this turn of events. Although Sozinne tried her hardest to keep the conversation flowing, Rowena was unable to focus on what anyone was saying. Why had that man been crouching there? What was Arl Howe up to? None of it made any sense. She had just resolved to tell her parents about it the first opportunity she got when all of a sudden the sounds of distant music began floating into the room. Rory looked up in surprise and began to rise from the table. “Is it time already?”

“Finally,” Sozinne said, straightening her sleeves. “I’m famished from all this running around.”

“What’s happening?” Eruestan asked, standing up with the rest of them.

“The music’s started,” Rowena explained. “It’s a sign that the feast’s begun.” She turned to the others. “I suppose this also means we need to pair up. Lord Dairren?”

“What—” the poor man said; she had caught him yet again staring at Rory. “Oh! Yes, of course!” He collected himself and proffered his arm. Behind them, Rory bowed down in front of a giggling Sozinne as Eruestan, still looking bewildered, took the arm of Iona, who in turn was still staring longingly at Rory.

The courtyard was already full of noise as they left the West Tower. In the dimming light of an early summer evening, it was hard to believe that far in the south war was brewing. The doors to the Great Hall had been left open; Rowena could tell that the castle musicians had been asked to play the Rivaini music her father was so fond of. “Are you ready, my lord?” Rowena asked, squeezing his arm as they approached the entrance.

“With you by my side, I’m ready for anything, my lady,” he said. She smiled slightly and led him towards the doors. As the music blasted in their ears, she tilted her head and whispered, “There’s an empty hallway in the North Tower of the castle. No one will find the two of you there.”

He started. “I’m sorry?”

“Have fun,” she said, winking. Then she broke free and dove into the crowd, letting the music carry her away.

* * *

Eruestan thought his eyes were going to burst.

Never in his life had he seen so many people in one room. Giant feasts were discouraged at the Circle, and even when they had them the guests all looked the same – sickly-pale scholars clothed in long robes, all squinting from years spent reading late into the night. Here, however, every level of society seemed to be packed into one hall. Finely dressed nobles, knights and soldiers, common folk, musicians – he was completely overwhelmed. Luckily, Iona seemed to be a ballroom veteran. Gripping him firmly by the arm, she moved him through the crowds and tables and brought him before the teyrn and teyrna. The two elves bowed before them. “Ser Eruestan!” the teyrn thundered, stepping forward to clap him on the back. “Glad to see you here!”

“Glad to be here, Your Grace,” Eruestan replied, ignoring the pain in his back. “I have to admit, I’ve never been to a party like this.”

“It’s a pity you weren’t here four days ago, then,” the teyrna said. “Unfortunately with everything coming at the last minute we weren’t quite able to recreate the feast we had to send off our own armies.”

The elf smiled slightly. “Well, perhaps I’ll be able to catch it for the next Blight.”

Bryce and Eleanor laughed heartily; with a second bow, Eruestan and Iona slowly moved away.

“They’re very kind, aren’t they?” Iona murmured.

Eruestan nodded. “One of the mages at the Circle used to be a servant here, and she always spoke very highly of the Couslands.”

“It must be nice,” Iona sighed. “Having such friendly masters.”

Eruestan looked over at Lady Landra, who was slouched at a table and beckoning for an elven servant to bring her more wine. “Are you not so lucky?”

She looked down. “Bann Loren and Lady Landra are not cruel. I suppose that’s the best you can ask for. Still, though…” She sighed and looked across the room. Eruestan followed her gaze to Ser Gilmore, who was talking with a very flustered Dairren. “I would simply like to enjoy myself every now and then, is all,” she said simply.

He thought he knew what she meant. “Er…Iona, I’m not sure Ser Gilmore will want to…”

“Oh, I know, serah,” she said bluntly. “I’m not stupid. Still, though…a girl can dream, can’t she?” With a smile, she curtsied and made her way across the room over to them.

Eruestan sighed. The fact that having masters who “weren’t cruel” was considered something rare sat poorly with him. Everything had been so much simpler between humans and elves at the Tower – but no, that life was over. There was no point in thinking about that now.

A tap on the shoulder pulled him out of his reverie. “Something to eat, ser?” someone asked. The mage turned around to see a surly elven servant carrying a tray of food standing behind him.

“Oh! Um…I’m fine…” The servant was glaring at him for no reason. Taken aback, he stared as the man walked away, carrying the food tray to the next guest.

“It’s a bit of a shock, isn’t it?” someone else said. Eruestan looked over to see Duncan standing beside him. “I know it can’t be easy learning how to be an elf out here.”

Eruestan smiled faintly and shrugged. “I feel like I haven’t felt the half of it yet. Why did he act like that, though?”

Duncan hesitated. “It can be hard, seeing someone similar to you have everything you can’t. He has to serve food at the party while you get to chat with the teyrn and teyrna. It’s a tough pill for most people to swallow.”

Eruestan didn’t know what to say. “I’ve never had to think about that before,” he admitted. “The worst I’ve ever gotten is a few nasty comments from some of the human apprentices. Everything is so much more complicated out here.”

The commander sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid an elven mage won’t be popular anywhere in Thedas, not just Ferelden – although to be fair, at least you’re not Orlesian.”

Eruestan grinned in spite of himself. “Would I even be allowed into the country if that were the case, too?”

Duncan shrugged. “You’d most likely have to at least kill an archdemon before people started inviting you to tea.”

It was meant to be a joke, yet Eruestan suddenly felt his stomach churn. “Right…killing…the archdemon…”

Seeing the look on his face, Duncan put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I take it killing things isn’t quite your specialty?”

He flashed a weak smile. “It wasn’t a very high priority for the Chantry.”

“Don’t worry,” Duncan said. “When the time comes, you’ll find instinct will do the job for you.”

The two were cut off by a loud clamor off in the corner. It appeared that a servant had tried to take away Lady Landra’s wine goblet, as she was now drunkenly striking at him with a water pitcher.

“Lady Landra seems to know all about instinct,” Eruestan remarked. “Maybe you should recruit her as well.”

Duncan looked over as the teyrna hurried to calm Landra down. “If any lady needs recruiting, it’s Bryce Cousland’s daughter.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you recruit her?” Eruestan said. “Couldn’t you conscript her like you did me? You’re able to take anyone you want, and she’s more than willing.”

Duncan hesitated. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

The Warden seemed to be mulling over his words. “I was able to conscript you because practically, it made sense,” he said. “One highly talented mage in the Order is far more useful than a handful of mages in the army. If I take Lady Rowena, however, I might lose the support of one of the largest armies in Ferelden, which would be a terrible move both practically and politically.”

“I thought the Wardens were removed from politics,” Eruestan said, frowning. “They don’t get involved, so they can do whatever they want long as they stop the Blights.”

“That’s the case in most of Thedas,” Duncan replied. “However, the Fereldan Wardens don’t have the best track record when it comes to minding our own business.”

“We don’t?” Eruestan asked, surprised.

He shook his head. “Back in the Storm Age, the Warden Commander laid a claim to the Fereldan throne. There was a civil war, a war that she lost, and the Wardens were exiled from Ferelden. Some even blame us for the Orlesian Occupation – they say that if we hadn’t started our war, Ferelden would have been strong enough to fend off the empire. It wasn’t until the reign of King Maric that we were allowed to return here, a decision many weren’t pleased with.”

“And so taking the teyrn’s daughter would further weaken our position with the Fereldan nobility,” Eruestan concluded.

“Exactly,” Duncan said. “No one cares if you conscript a few convicts here or there. Go after the daughter of the second-most powerful man in the kingdom, however, and people start getting worried.”

Eruestan looked at Rowena, who was dancing merrily with a member of the household. “How many Wardens are there in Ferelden, Duncan?” he asked.

The Warden sighed. “12, plus four recruits.”

“ _12?_ ” Eruestan looked up at him in alarm. He had no idea there were so few people in the Order. “Will 12 be enough?”

His answer was far from reassuring. “I certainly hope so, Eruestan. I certainly hope so.”

* * *

As the dance finished, Rowena curtsied to her partner and then clapped vigorously for the musicians. Dancing was the only thing that made events like these bearable, and like her father she greatly appreciated anyone who could perform her favorite songs from Antiva and Rivain.

Having finished, she wandered over to the high table, where her mother had slumped back over a chair.

“I forgot how violent Landra gets when she’s had too much to drink,” Eleanor panted, fanning herself. “Maker, but does she have a mean left hook!”

“She’s not the only one who’s had too much,” Rowena said. She pointed to her father, who was cheering loudly as he and Arl Howe swigged back stein after stein of ale.

"Oh, Maker’s breath, Bryce,” Eleanor huffed, sagging further back in her chair. “He’s going to feel terrible tomorrow morning.”

“He won’t be the only one,” Rowena said, looking at Arl Howe. Normally so stiff and rigid, the arl seemed barely able to keep himself on his feet. “Oh, that reminds me – we caught one of Howe’s men spying on us in the library.”

The teyrna frowned. “Spying? Are you sure?”

“Either that or he needed a book from the bottom corner right behind us.” Rowena shrugged. “I sent him to the guardroom after I got his name – I figured I’d just tell Arl Howe, but seeing the state he’s in…”

“Yes, I don’t think now’s the time…besides,” Eleanor said, frowning, “I’m not sure we should go to Rendon.”

“Why not?”

The teyrna had narrowed her eyes, staring peculiarly at Howe. “Usually, Pup, when a servant spies, it’s at the bidding of his master.”

Rowena blinked. “Arl Howe is Da’s oldest friend.”

“Better men have betrayed far greater relationships,” Eleanor said. “I think I’ll tell your father to keep an eye on Rendon on the way down south.”

It was too ridiculous to be true. Rowena had grown up around the Howes, there was no way something treacherous could be underfoot. “Mam, you know that can’t be it,” she said. “There has to be another explanation.”

“You’re probably right,” Eleanor said, still looking at her husband and Howe. “Maybe all this talk of Blights and war is getting to me. In any case, look at the state of him – I won’t be able to say anything to him for a while.”

At that moment, there was a crash from the back of the room. Two soldiers had gotten into a fight, and one had thrown the other against the wall. “I take it that’s my cue to go to bed?” Rowena asked drily as a team of people helped the two rise back to their feet.

“Honestly, I think I’m going to join you,” Eleanor said, rubbing her shoulder. “That fight with Landra took a lot out of me. Besides, we both have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, we need all the rest we can get.”

Rowena nodded and rose from her chair. “I’ll go and fetch Sozinne – care to join me?”

“Yes, yes,” the teyrna said, standing up. She paused and looked back at her husband. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

“Alcohol poisoning aside?” Rowena said, stepping away from the high table. “Come on, Mam, he’ll be fine.”

* * *

The feast did not last very long after the teyrna and her daughter left. It was doomed to be more subdued from the start – most of the people there were riding off to battle the next day, and the mix of Howe and Cousland men had proved awkward and contentious. Patrols on the castle ramparts continued long after the music stopped and the lights went out, however. It was a black night – the guards on duty couldn’t see a thing.

“Sweet Andraste, it’s hot,” Marrin said as he mopped his forehead with a rag. “Can you imagine those poor bastards having to walk through this heat all the way from Amaranthine?”

“The march down south will be worse,” Sam said gravely. “Now shut up, we’re supposed to be concentrating on the road.”

Marrin, however, wasn’t in the mood to shut up. “Those sad bastards, Sam! Think about it! Trekking all the way here, then down south, only to be killed by some blighted darkspawn! Makes a man sorry, don’t it?”

“The only man I’m sorry for is meself, listening to you babble,” Sam grumbled, looking out into the dark. “Shut your mouth, man!”

There was a moment’s silence. Then: “Have you ever seen a darkspawn, Sam?”

Sam cursed under his breath. “No, you blasted idiot, of course I haven’t! No one’s seen a darkspawn in 400 years!”

Marrin whistled. “So how do we know how to kill ‘em, then?”

“I don’t bloody know, do I?” Sam snapped. “The Grey Wardens do!”

Marrin reflected on this for a second. “It’d be something to be one of them, wouldn’t it, Sam?”

The other man snorted. “You, a Grey Warden? What do you want to do, make the Archdemon laugh to death?”

“What?” Marrin asked, hurt. “I’d be a brilliant Grey Warden.”

“Please,” Sam chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “You’d get your arse beat by a rat.”

“Hey, that’s not—” There was a _thwack_ , and suddenly Marrin had started gargling. Sam looked over and saw that an arrow was jutting out of the other man’s throat.

“Andraste’s tits!” Sam swore, leaping towards the alarm bell as Marrin’s corpse fell to the ground. However, before he could get more than two clangs out, another volley of arrows sliced through the night air, cutting him down. The bell was left to tone dully in the night, clanging out its warning on sleeping ears.    

* * *

In one of the darker corners of the castle, two shadows pressed into each other, breathing heavily.

“Dairren, Dairren,” Rory said, panting, “not so much teeth.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Dairren gasped. “It’s hard to get my teeth around it.”

Rory reflected on this. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Dairren rose back up to his feet and gave the knight a deep kiss. “I am _so_ glad we decided to come up north,” he grunted, grabbing Rory’s neck. He looked into his eyes and winked. “You’ve got quite a sword down there, by the way.”

“I’m aware,” Rory said, grinning.

Dairren fell to his knees a second time. “Perhaps…you’d like me to polish it some more?”

Rory sighed happily and rested his head against the wall as Dairren went to work. “Ah, yes, that just – do you hear that?” he said suddenly, standing up straight.

“All I hear is someone talking through something he probably should stay quiet for,” Dairren said, taking a breath.

Rory raised a hand. “Shh, listen.” The two sat in silence. Slowly, the sounds of clashing steel and screaming men filled the room.

Rory looked down in shock. “I think – I think we’re under attack!”

* * *

Bryce Cousland had seen better days.

“Rendon,” he slurred, leaning against the arl. They were alone in the Great Hall save for Lady Landra, who was murmuring thickly into her ale stein in the back corner. “Rendon, Rendon, Rendon. You’re my…you know, you’re my best ffffriend.”

“Am I?” the arl asked. He had set his stein down hours ago, although the teyrn had been too drunk to notice.

Bryce nodded vigorously. “Aye, you are. Thick as thieves, us two. Couldn’t a done it without ya. You remember the White River?”

Howe’s mouth had grown stiff. “How could I forget?” he asked.

“Bloody mess,” Bryce spat. “I still hear the screaming every now and then, did you know that? Horrible screams – the things we saw…” He paused for a moment, and then hiccupped and took another drink. “No, but you, me, and Bryland – we became brothers that day, you know? And I know, I know,” he said, cutting Howe off, “you and Leonas aren’t talking, and it’s a damn shame – but Rendon, I just – I just want you to know that I appreciate you, you know? I really do.”

“Your Grace, I’m flatt—” Howe was cut off again by the teyrn, who raised his finger to the arl’s mouth.

“Shhhh,” Bryce whispered. “No titles. Jus’ two ole friends, enjoyin – whassat?” he mumbled, turning towards the growing sounds of battle reaching the hall.

Howe drew a dagger from his sleeve, suddenly standing upright. “That would be my cue, Bryce,” he said curtly. With that, he plunged his blade in between the teyrn’s ribs, twisting and twisting until the wound began to seep blood.

* * *

It was terribly late, and Oren still had not fallen asleep.

“Mama, I’m hot,” he complained, pushing aside his blankets.

“I know, _tresoro_ , I know,” Oriana murmured, patting at his forehead with a wet cloth. She had sent a maid to get fresh water half an hour ago – where on earth was that girl?

Oren moaned and flopped over on his stomach. “I wanna go fight with Papa.”

Oriana smiled. “Your time will come soon enough. For now, all you need to do is obey Grandmama and Auntie while Grandpapa and Father are away.”

“No!” her son sulked. “I wanna see Papa!”

At that moment there was a distant crash that gently shook the walls of the bedchamber.

“What was that?” Oren asked excitedly. Oriana just laughed and kissed his forehead.

“Nothing but thunder, _amore_ ,” she smiled.

“Oh.” He lay back, disappointed.

Oriana looked at him tenderly. “Would you like to hear the song about the king of Antiva?”

He looked up excitedly. “Yes, please!”

She smiled, cleared her throat, and began to sing.

“ _C’era una volta un Re,_

_Seduto sul sofà,_

_Che dissa alla sua serva:_

_‘Raccontami una storia.’_

_E la serva incomincio:”_

_“C’era una volta un Re…”_

Arl Howe’s men had burst into the servants’ quarters, ransacking the room and slaughtering everyone they could find.

“ _Seduto sul sofa…_ ”

Cousland men had started to pour into the courtyard, half-dressed and barely aware of what was going on. They stood no match for the soldiers streaming out the guest barracks, well-armed and thirsty for blood.

“ _Che dissa alla sua serva…_ ”

Fire was set to the books in the library, spreading from shelf to shelf and turning one of the finest collections in Ferelden to ash. Near the entrance lay the bloodied corpse of Aldous, stabbed in the back while protecting the tomes he loved.

“ _Raccontami una storia…_ ”

Guardsmen sped up the stairs to the castle’s private quarters, led by a man with a leering, lecherous face.

“ _E la serva incomincio:_ ”

In a different life, Oriana would have continued her song, would have gone long into the night until her darling boy drifted off to sleep. Oren would have woken up the next day completely recovered, and she would have begun a long month of prayer for the men at Ostagar.

 But that life was never to be. For as Oriana took a breath to begin the third repetition, the door to her chamber burst open and four of Arl Howe’s men charged in, all with swords drawn high.

* * *

_Rowena was riding a cloud. The sun was shining, the wind was rippling through her hair, and down below the entire world was stretched out before her. A sweet little bird chirped up beside her and landed on her outstretched palm._

_“Well, aren’t you just adorable!” she cooed._

_It stared up at her and began barking._

Her eyes fluttered open. It was the middle of the night; her room was still dark. Cormac was standing in front of her door, barking furiously.

“Shite!” She leaped out of bed and ran to the hound’s side. “Cormac, be quiet! You’ll wake the entire castle!” Cormac lowered to a menacing growl in obedience, his teeth still bared at whatever was outside. It was then that Rowena realized that there was more noise coming from outside her room than within.

“Maker’s breath, what’s going on?” she whispered as the sounds of battle grew louder in her room.

There was a sudden pounding on her door. “Rowena!” Sozinne screamed from the other side. “Rowena, _au secours_!”

Heart in her throat, Rowena flung her door open to reveal a terrified Sozinne cowering in the darkness. Her maid’s nightdress was torn, and there were two terrible scratches on her cheek.

“Sozinne!” Rowena cried. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re under attack!” she screamed. “Arl Howe—”

This was all she got out before an arrow burst out from her chest.

With a gasp of horror, Rowena looked up to see an archer and two soldiers charge at her from the stairs. She dove back into her room and grabbed the first makeshift weapon she could find. This proved to be an iron poker, which she swung around with just enough force to slam it into the first soldier’s head as he reached back to strike at her. With a groan, he collapsed to the floor.

His fellow hovered by the door, now wary of the seemingly defenseless young woman. Narrowing her eyes, Rowena flew forward and then ducked. His swipe sliced through the air and landed with a thump into her armoire, so deep he couldn’t pull it back out. Acting quickly, Rowena reached forward and stabbed him in the side with her poker. He howled in pain; she, however, yanked the sword out of the wood with a burst of adrenaline and plunged the blade in the man’s skull.

An arrow flew past her face and clattered against the wall behind her. She whipped her head around to see the archer draw back another bolt in the landing, bow directed at her. Then, there was a snarl and a flash of fur, and in an instant Cormac was on top of the man, tearing at his face, neck, and shoulders until his legs stopped twitching.

Rowena stood alone in her room for a moment, struggling to catch her breath. She had to be dreaming; this couldn’t be real. But there was blood on her nightshirt, and her dear friend was dead at her feet. “Sozinne,” she gasped, immediately dropping to her knees. “Sozinne, please, are you…” It was no use. Her friend’s eyes had gone blank, her face frozen in pain and fear.

She wanted to scream. The sounds of battle were still raging outside, and she needed to mourn her companion, the dignified lady who had adapted so well to their home. Cormac came back to her side to lick her face, but she could barely pay him any attention. This was a terrible dream, one she had to wake up from.

Suddenly, Cormac was barking again, snarling viciously at the door. Rowena looked up to see a soldier charging at her from the doorway, his sword drawn, ready to strike both her and her hound down. Still stunned, Rowena feebly attempted to lift her sword to defend herself. Before she could, however, the man went stiff and cried out in agony before sprawling out before her on the floor. An arrow was jutting out of his back.

Rowena looked up to her doorframe and stared in wonder. 

Her mother was standing in the landing, pointing a drawn bow at the dead soldier. Yet nothing about this woman was reminiscent of the Eleanor Cousland Rowena knew. The teyrna, always so proper, always the perfect vision of a lady, was now dressed in a suit of armor, her long hair quickly swept up into a messy bun. The look on her face was terrifying, and for a fleeting instant Rowena realized just what so many Orlesian sailors had to have seen as the Seawolf’s ship came crashing into theirs.

“Mam?” she asked in disbelief.

Eleanor lowered her bow, and immediately the viciousness in her face disappeared. “Pup!” Eleanor cried, running forward and grabbing her. She checked her over for injuries and then kissed her forehead fiercely, trembling slightly. “Thank the Maker,” she said fervently. “I heard screaming and—well, I won’t say what I thought. Are you all right? What’s happening?”

Rowena shook her head. “I…I don’t know, they came out of nowhere and—” She looked down and almost began to cry. “Mam,” she said. “Sozinne…”

Eleanor looked down and gasped. “Oh, no,” she said sadly. “Oh, the poor dear – Pup, what is going on? Did she tell you anything?”

She frowned, trying to clear her head. “No – she was just trying to say something about Arl Howe…”

The teyrna’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean…” They looked at each other, and then looked over at the soldiers lying dead in the room. Each bore a shield carrying the bears of House Howe. They each let the horror of that knowledge sink in. “That bastard!” Eleanor shouted, standing up. Rowena jumped back, shocked by the vehemence of the curse. “I’ll slit his slimy, shite-stained throat if it’s the last thing I do!” She took a deep breath to calm herself and looked down at her daughter. “We don’t have any time to waste,” she said. “We need to grab Oren and Oriana, find your father, and—”

“What do you mean, ‘find Da’?” Rowena asked in alarm. “Did he not come back tonight?”

The teyrna shook her head. “No, he stayed out with Rend—Arl Howe. He could be in terrible danger. Run and put your armor on, Pup. I’m going to find Oriana and Oren.”

Rowena nodded and jumped to her feet. Tearing off her nightgown, she began to rummage through her armoire. To her dismay, the only set of armor she could find was a cracked leather training set from two years earlier.

“Andraste’s tits,” she muttered as she squeezed into it, sucking in her breath as she struggled to make it feet. “The one time I wear a gown…” Securing the straps, she bent down and picked up the bloodied sword she had taken before pausing over Sozinne’s body. Blinking back a few tears, she closed her friend’s eyes and drew the Circle of Sacred Flame on her forehead. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “ _Repose en paix_.”

At that moment, however, a terrible scream ripped through the night.

Rowena raised her sword. “Who’s there?” she yelled, moving out into the landing. The only response she got, however, was Cormac’s mournful bale from the door across the hall.

Weapon still drawn, Rowena made her way across the landing, stopping at the entrance to Fergus and Oriana’s chamber. “Mam?” she asked. “Is everything all—”

Her voice trailed off as she realized what lay within the room. The teyrna was on her knees, face in her hands. Oriana lay beside her in a pool of blood, a terrible gash across her chest. Then, in a blow that brought Rowena to her knees as well, she saw that little Oren lay motionless in the bed in the corner, sheets stained red.

“We were too late,” Eleanor wept bitterly. “My poor little Oren…how could they do this, those monsters…”

Rowena lay still, an anger unlike any she had ever known taking ahold of her. Little Oren, her little soldier – she felt ready to tear the castle apart. “Howe will pay for this,” she spat, blinded by tears and rage. “As long as he lives, he _will_ regret this.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Eleanor said, turning to her with tears in her eyes. “Killing defenseless women and children? They aren’t taking prisoners. They plan to wipe us all out.”

“Good,” Rowena said savagely, wiping her eyes. “Because we’ll do the same to them.” Rising to her feet, she extended her arm to her mother and helped her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go. We need to find Da now.”

Eleanor nodded, and with a final look back followed her out the door. “How will I ever tell Fergus?” she asked, tears staining her cheeks. “How can we—”

Rowena shook her head, glad to feel the rage take the place of her fear. Anger was something she was familiar with, something that could fuel her. “We need to move, Mam,” she said. She suddenly froze. “Do you smell smoke?”

Cormac began to howl; the teyrna went white. “They must have set fire to the castle,” she said. “We need to be careful – if not, the smoke could take care of us before Howe does.”

The two women and the Mabari made their way down the stairs to the second-floor landing. From the window they could see that the courtyard was full of fighting soldiers, swords clashing in the light provided by the raging fires. Smoke was billowing on this floor, making it hard to see down the hall.

“On your guard, Pup,” Eleanor whispered. “These people could be anywhere…”

She was cut off by a shout somewhere in the smoke. A moment later, another group of Howe’s men charged out at them.

With a furious war cry, Rowena jumped up and slammed her blade into one soldier’s skull. Beside her, Cormac gnashed at a woman’s leg as Eleanor shot a man down with her arrows. Parrying one man’s blow, Rowena spun around and buried her sword in his stomach. Panting, she looked up to see her mother grab an arrow, stab her attacker three times in the chest with it, and then smash his head in with his own mace.

“The Seawolf sails again,” Rowena said in wonder. Eleanor smiled; however, her smile soon turned to a look of horror as she caught sight of something behind her daughter. Before Rowena could respond, something knocked her to her feet. Sprawling, she looked up to see a giant man in Howe armor raise a warhammer to strike her. Shying away from him, she tried to protect her head as best she could and waited for the blow to come.

Suddenly, there was a blast of cold air and the sound of ice. A few seconds passed, and still no terrible blow came. Peering up in confusion, she started in wonder to see that the giant’s head had been completely incased in ice. Clawing frantically at his face, the man ran around blindly until one of Eleanor’s arrows struck him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

“What in the name of the Maker…” Looking past him, she was able to make out a slight elven frame standing in a nearby doorway. “Eruestan?”

“Rowena!” he cried, running up to her. “Lady Eleanor! Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Rowena said, climbing to her feet. “What about you? Are you all right?”

He nodded. “Duncan told me to stay in my room until he found out what was going on – I didn’t leave until I heard the fighting out here. What’s happening? Who are these people?”

Rowena spat. “They’re Arl Howe’s men,” she said viciously. “They’re killing everyone they can find.”

“Howe?” he asked in shock. “I thought he was your friend?”

“So did we,” Eleanor snarled. “Ser Eruestan, did Duncan say where he was going?”

Eruestan shook his head. “Just towards the fighting, Your Grace.”

“Then that’s where we go,” the teyrna said. “Come on, we need to keep moving – let’s go through the West Wing, the fire won’t let us through the West Tower exit.”

The group raced down the halls, dodging around corners whenever a group of Howe’s men could be heard. In each hallway and stairwell lay someone Rowena had grown up with, their unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling. Each face helped stoke the fire already burning in her chest. _I will avenge you_ , she thought after each corpse they passed. _Every last one of you, I will avenge you._

At certain turns fire, not soldiers, blocked their escape. Heat and smoke filled the air at some points, making it almost impossible to breathe. It was during one of these detours that the teyrna froze and swore loudly.

“The treasury!” she gasped, turning down a side hallway.

“Is she really worried about jewelry at a time like this?” Eruestan asked.

Rowena shrugged helplessly and tore after her mother. “Mam, there are more important things than gold to worry about at the moment!”

She found her pounding desperately at the treasury door. “This—isn’t—about—gold!” she panted, slamming herself into the heavy oak. “This—is—far—more—important!” With a final slam, she slumped wearily to the floor, rubbing her shoulder. “Oh, why didn’t I think to bring the key?” she asked miserably.

Eruestan squared his shoulders. “I might be able to help,” he said quietly. Frowning, both Rowena and her mother gave him a clear berth as he approached the door. Stretching out a hand, he lowered his head and muttered a few words in Tevinter. A small ball of light appeared in his palm; it proceeded to grow larger and larger until finally he thrust out his arm, sending it slamming into the door with such force that it was blasted off its hinges.

“Maker,” Rowena breathed. “You’ve got to teach me that one.”

He responded by grinning weakly and falling to his knees.

“Are you all right?” she asked in alarm. He nodded and waved her off.

“That took more out of me than I expected,” he said sheepishly. “I’ll just catch my breath out here.”

“Let us know if you see anything – and thank you, Ser Eruestan.” The teyrna grabbed a torch from the wall. “Follow me, darling,” she whispered.

Rowena had never been allowed inside the treasury before, and now that she had entered she knew why. The torchlight revealed more gold and jewels than in a raider’s den on Estwick, enough treasure to put a queen to shame. More importantly, there were piles and piles of gleaming daggers, swords, and battleaxes – had she been allowed in as a child, she would never have come back out.

“Over there is what we need,” Eleanor whispered. “The standards of House Cousland.”

Rowena followed her gaze and gasped. Mounted on the wall in a place of honor were a beautiful sword and shield. Both were made of white steel with gold filigree, gleaming brilliantly in the torchlight. The hilt of the sword held a giant emerald, while the shield was emblazoned with the twin laurel branches of House Cousland.

“The Teyrn of Highever has held these weapons since the Black Age,” Eleanor whispered. “They’re dwarven-made and carry many enchantments. Whatever we do, Arl Howe cannot get to them.”

“Am I allowed to take them?” Rowena murmured.

Eleanor nodded. “Your father was to grab them in the morning to take down south. Maker willing, we’ll be able to get them to him now.”

Rowena stepped forward and grabbed the set from the wall. Instantly a bolt of electricity coursed through her body; the sword immediately began humming in her grip, as if acknowledging who she was.

“Wow,” she breathed, giving it a test swing. Both were far lighter than she had expected. “I could get used to this…”

Suddenly there was a loud bark from the hallway. Spinning around, she saw a group of Howe men bearing down on them, one ready to attack Eruestan.

Without thinking, she ran out of the room and slashed out. Her blade cut through the man’s armor as if it were fabric. Raising her shield, she blocked a blow to her face and jabbed forward, felling another soldier. Rising to his feet, Eruestan took down a man attacking Cormac with another ice spell while Eleanor shot one more in the chest. As if thinking with a mind of its own, the Cousland blade sang through the air and buried itself into the final guard’s neck.

Rowena stared at the sword in wonder. “Where were _you_ all throughout my childhood?”

“Locked up very, very, _very_ far away from you,” Eleanor said. “Now hurry, we’ve almost made it to the courtyard.”

The sounds of fighting grew even more intense as they drew nearer. Bursting through a door leading into the courtyard, the group had to take a moment to adjust to the chaos raging before them. Someone had managed to close the gates leading to the castle; however, Howe’s army had to be just outside, as the wood was groaning under the blows of consecutive attacks. The windows of the West Tower were blaring with smoke and flames, casting a terrifying light over the struggle in the courtyard. Too many of Howe’s men had managed to slip through – the Cousland soldiers were barely able to hold them off.

Without a second thought, Rowena and her companions threw themselves into the pitch. Rowena ducked, sliced, and twirled, blood flying around her as her sword sang and hummed.

With their help, the Cousland soldiers seemed to surge forward, pressing harder and harder against the Howe men in the courtyard. With each blow, Rowena’s heart sang out in anger, as if she were constantly striking Howe himself. When the last of the enemy soldiers fell, she was practically in a rage.

The fighting may have stopped, but the yelling and the roaring of the fire had not. The pounding at the gates was growing louder and louder as well, splintering the sturdy oak doors. Rowena smiled grimly at the entrance, ready for the doors to break. Howe had to be behind them.

“Rowena!” someone cried. She turned around distractedly to see Rory running toward her, his face covered in blood. “Thank the Maker!”

“Rory!” she said, snapping out of her rage. “Are you all right?”

Nodding, he wrapped an arm around her and held her tight. “We’ve been fighting for half an hour,” he said. “We managed to close the gates, but they won’t hold – I was looking for reinforcements—”

“Is Howe outside?” she asked sharply.

The knight nodded. “He managed to slip out somehow. He’s with the rest of his men.” He looked over to the teyrna, who was running over to them. “Your Grace, I bear bad news – I’m afraid Lady Landra has been slain, along with her son and maid.”

“I figured as much,” Eleanor said darkly. “And what about my husband, Rory? Where is the teyrn?”

Rory bowed. “He was badly injured, Your Grace. He and Ser Duncan left to go find you – His Grace said that you would know where to look.”

The teyrna’s face grew grim. “I understand. Pup, we have to go.”

The doors to the courtyard took another beating, almost breaking open before them. Several of the Cousland soldiers yelled in fear, forming a line in the center of the yard. “The gates, Mam!” Rowena said. “We can’t just leave the men here!”

“Rowena, if we stay here, we die,” Eleanor said urgently. “We need to find your father!”

“I might be able to buy us some time,” Eruestan said suddenly. They all looked at the elf, who seemed confident enough despite his pale face. “It’ll only last a few minutes, but that’s still more time than we’d have otherwise.”

Rowena and Rory both looked at the teyrna, who started nodding. “Of course,” she said. “Thank you, Ser Eruestan.”

The elf nodded at her and ran to the gates. Rowena followed close behind, keeping an eye on the ramparts to make sure none of Howe’s archers were lurking up above. The doors shuddered again, threatening to give way at any moment. Beside her, Eruestan held out both his arms and began muttering words in what had to be Tevene. Taking a deep breath, he then flicked his hands forward and screamed. There was an odd warping noise, like something being sucked through the air, and suddenly a light green wall of light rose up around the doors, holding them in place.

“Brilliant,” Rowena breathed. She then looked over to Eruestan, who had collapsed to his knees. “Eruestan!”

“I’m a-all r-r-right,” he said, barely able to look up at her. His teeth were chattering, and his whole body was trembling like a leaf. “I-I’ve n-n-never c-cast a spell that l-large,” he said. “T-too much energy.” The doors shuddered again, and although the spell held Eruestan started to moan. “It won’t l-last much l-longer,” he said, trying to force himself to his feet. “We should move.”

Rowena helped him up and turned back to her mother and Rory. The teyrna ran up to them and grabbed the elf’s other arm. “I can’t thank you enough, Ser Eruestan,” she said. “This will buy us the time we need.”

“Mam, we can’t—”

“Yes, we can,” Eleanor snapped. The look Rowena had seen earlier had come back into her mother’s eyes: the terrifying snarl of the Seawolf. “I’ve already lost my grandson tonight, I will not lose my daughter, too.”

Rowena felt her heart catch in her throat. “But Howe—”

“Will die another day,” Eleanor said. “We need to move, _now_!”

Cormac started to whine beside her. Looking into her mother’s face, she realized with a bitter heart that there was no hope in staying to fight. She looked around at the soldiers preparing to die and felt her eyes cloud with tears. It was ignoble, it was cowardly, and yet they were going to leave anyways. “Let’s go, then,” she said, closing her eyes. “The barrier won’t last long.”

She, her mother, Eruestan, and Cormac started to make their way towards the Great Hall. Rory, however, stayed where he was standing. “Come on, Rory,” Rowena said, turning around towards him. “Duncan’s waiting for you!”

There was another loud crash in the distance. “No,” he said.

Rowena felt her blood chill. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” she said. “You have a duty to them, you have to…”

“I’m not one of them yet, my lady,” the knight said. He looked over at the gates and nodded. “Right now I’m still a Cousland man. I’m staying here to fight.”

 _No,_ Rowena thought in horror. Pushing Eruestan over to her mother, she ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Rory was her oldest friend, practically her brother. They had sparred together every day since she had been a girl, explored the castle together, gone on adventures in the woods and fought mocks battles against Orlesians and Nevarrans. She couldn’t bear to lose him, not now when everything was falling apart. “Please come with us,” she said, unable to hold back the tears streaming down her face. “Please, Rory, please.”

He hugged her back fiercely, but shook his head. ‘My family has served yours for three ages,” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “Your parents gave me everything I ever wanted when they took me in. If I can buy you all even just a few moments of time, it’s worth laying my life down for.”

Choking back a sob, she threw herself forward again and gave him one last embrace. “Maker watch over you, Rory,” she whispered.

“And you, Rowena,” he whispered back. Breaking away from her, he turned back to the soldiers and raised his voice. “All right, men! Let’s show these bastards how Cousland soldiers fight!”

The men roared in a way she had never heard before, a final hurrah for a fray they all knew they wouldn’t survive. As Rory joined the soldiers, they turned around and bowed to Rowena and Eleanor. Bursting with emotion, the two women bowed back.

“Your loyalty will never be forgotten,” the teyrna said, struggling to maintain composure. “May we meet you all again by the Maker’s side.”

“Maker save Their Ladyships!” one man called.

“And Maferath fuck Howe!” a woman roared. With another great cheer, the soldiers followed Rory to the gates, where Eruestan’s barrier had already started to flicker.

“Such brave men and women,” Eleanor said, wiping her eyes with her free hand. Rowena grabbed Eruestan’s other shoulder and helped shift him towards the Great Hall. “Now, come on, you two, we don’t have any time to spare.”

They rushed out of the courtyard to sounds of shouts and splintering wood. The Great Hall was in total disarray, littered with blood and the dead. Completely overwhelmed, Rowena could barely look at their faces. She could barely even figure out how to feel. Howe had won; Rory, Oren, and Sozinne were dead. There was no time to think of grief or vengeance, however. Her life was passing before her in a blur.

Before she knew it, they had arrived in the kitchens, standing in front of the larder.

“Bryce!” Eleanor cried, dropping Eruestan’s arm and running forward. Rowena stopped in the doorway, frozen. Her father lay panting in a pool of blood, clutching a wound in his side.

Eruestan followed her gaze and gently pushed her away. “I can stand now,” he whispered. “Go to him.” But Rowena couldn’t move. She was gripped by something, a type of crippling fear she had never known before.

Her mother was cradling her father’s head, her face completely white. “Bryce, darling, what happened?” she asked, stroking his hair. “Who did this?”

“Rendon stabbed me,” the teyrn grunted. Hearing him gasp for breath almost made Rowena sob. “My own fault, really – drank too much, wasn’t paying attention—” He winced and clutched his side. Blood was still flowing through the rag he had pressed there, spilling over his hands and onto the floor.

“His Grace is very grievously injured,” Duncan said. Rowena hadn’t noticed him until then; he was standing in the back of the room, his armor smeared in blood. “If we’re going to escape, we need to do it now.”

“About that, Dunc—Duncan,” Bryce gasped. “I’m not sure I can do it.”

“Bryce, don’t be silly,” Eleanor snapped. “We’ll get you out through the passageway and straight to a healer.”

That triggered something. “Wait!” Rowena said quickly. “We have a healer!” She grabbed Eruestan from the door frame and pushed him in front of her. “He’s brilliant, he’ll be able to heal you, Da, we’ll be fine, it’ll be—”

“Rowena,” Eruestan said, eyes wide, “I can’t.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “I’ve seen you do tons of magic, I know you can do it—”

He shook his head. “I’m telling you, his wounds are too deep and I don’t have enough energy left. It won’t work.”

“Please,” she whispered, staring at him. The world had gone hollow, and she felt like her words were echoing around the room. “Please, for the love of anything, please, please, just try, please—”

Eruestan hesitated, then sat down and held out his hand. Closing his eyes, he began to mutter a few words. Faint, flickering blue light appeared in his palm, and Rowena’s heart fluttered. Yet the instant he touched it to the teyrn’s wound, it vanished.

He looked up in anguish, and Rowena could see that his whole body had started trembling again. “I’m so sorry, I can’t,” he stammered. “I’m tapped.”

“It’s all right,” Eleanor said, her voice distant. She was still stroking her husband’s hair, her eyes focused on something worlds away. “Duncan, please get our daughter out of the castle.”

There was a brief pause. Then, everyone turned to her and said “What?”

“Ellie, don’t be ridiculous,” Bryce said softly. “You can still escape, live—”

“I’ve been at your side for 30 years, Bryce Cousland,” she said harshly. “We’ve fought the Orlesians on the seas and raised a family together, and if you think I’m going to leave you here now then you have no idea who I actually am.” She turned back to the Grey Warden with a fierce look in her eyes. “Will you do this for us, Duncan?”

“I will,” Duncan said, “but on one condition. My Order is suffering, and the whole country needs talented warriors now more than ever. I will protect Rowena, but only if you allow me to recruit her into the ranks of the Grey Wardens.”

Bryce and Eleanor stared expressionlessly at each other for a moment, then turned back to Duncan. “Done,” they said in unison.

Rowena had been stunned into silence up until that point, but now she found her voice. “No!” she cried, standing up. “I won’t leave you two!”

“Rowena, you _must_.” For the first time she could remember, it was her father who sounded stern, not her mother. “You _must_ live.”

“But you and Mam—”

“Your father and I have led good, full lives, Pup,” Eleanor said. “I would sooner throw myself on Howe’s sword a thousand times than let you end yours here in this basement.”

Rowena couldn’t help it. She began to sob. Her parents had been the twin pillars of her life, constant sources of comfort, encouragement, and love. She couldn’t handle all the loss – she was going to crack. “I-I love you both,” she choked, trying to pull herself together. “So, so much.”

“Then live, Pup, and fight,” Bryce said weakly. “Warn your brother and kick Rendon’s traitor ass.”

There was a distant, massive crash that shook the castle. The gates had been smashed. “We need to leave, _now_ ,” Duncan said, pushing aside the barrel that blocked the rat tunnel. It stretched out before them, a dark hole leading to a cold, bleak world.

Rowena stood froze in the center of the room.

“Rowena, please, leave, run,” Eleanor whispered.

Something nudged her hand. She looked down to see Cormac gently pushing her towards the passage.

With a stifled sob, she swooped down to give her parent a final embrace.

“Hey now, no tears,” Bryce said gently. “And might I add, my lady, that is a mighty fine sword.”

Rowena half-chuckled, half-sobbed and kissed him on the forehead. “Sorry I’m taking it from you.”

“There is no one in the world who deserves it more,” he replied, pride shining in his eyes.

“My beautiful, brilliant girl,” Eleanor murmured, squeezing her tight. Though her eyes glistened with tears, she kept one hand resting on her bow, and Rowena knew that more than one Howe soldier would meet his end trying to break into that larder. “You and your brother are my greatest joys. Nothing else I have ever done has ever meant more to me.” She looked deep into her eyes and held her tight. “We’ll always be with you, my Wena,” she whispered.

She was starting to weep again. “Goodbye,” she whispered. “I love you.”

“We love you, too,” they both murmured. Fighting to calm down, Rowena forced herself to turn around and head into the blackness of the tunnel. Cormac followed her, and then Eruestan. Then Duncan crawled into the tunnel, too, dragging the barrel back into place, cutting her off from her parents forever.

* * *

 It took them two hours.

Two hours of moving in total darkness. Two hours of feeling along dirt walls, stumbling over roots, and crashing into low-lying planks. Two hours of trying to ignore the soft, controlled, yet agonized sobs of the young woman whose world had collapsed to pieces around her. Two hours that felt like two years.

By the end, however, Rowena had stopped crying.

Even when she stepped onto the beach below the castle and looked back on the blazing inferno that had been her home, no more grief pulled at her heart. No, her tears had turned into the white-hot fire of fury, a rage so pure, so immense that she had no room for any other emotions. This was why, as she looked on the ruins of Highever, she merely turned away and started walking towards the south. Her hound at her side, the sole survivor of Castle Cousland left the old world behind her, leaving her revenge to another day.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are welcome!


	9. Welcome to Ostagar

After a week’s worth of travelling, they were finally able to make out marble towers peeking over the trees in the distance. “Is that Ostagar?” Eruestan asked Duncan as they paused to take a break for breakfast.

The commander nodded. “We’re about five miles away,” he said, handing out bits of stale bread and apples. “We should get there within a few hours.”

“Great,” Eruestan said, not sure if he meant it. Life on the road was proving to be far more trying than he had ever thought it would be. Admittedly, it was fascinating exploring southern Ferelden, walking in valleys, crossing rivers, and finally experiencing what he had only read about all his life. After fourteen years at the Tower, however, he had no experience at all sleeping outside and scavenging for food. No amount of sightseeing could change the fact that his back now always ached and his stomach was constantly rumbling. Even the villages they stopped at for supplies gave him a strange feeling. The shopkeepers and farmers took one look at his robes and his ears and immediately turned their noses up at him – not exactly an endearing environment.

Still, the prospect of arriving at Ostagar and joining the Wardens was not any more exciting. Duncan had been maddeningly cryptic about what they should expect once they got there, and the fear of what was lying in wait for him was keeping him up at night just as much as the hard ground and the whispering winds.

He wasn’t the only one to have trouble sleeping, either. Rowena spent each night gnashing her teeth as she slept, fighting demons only she could see. She barely spoke during the day, keeping to herself and her hound while Eruestan and Duncan chatted about history and the places they were passing through. Eruestan looked at her now, chewing grimly while Cormac dug into his food with delight. He couldn’t imagine the pain she was going through now – it made his ordeal at the Circle seem silly and unimportant. All the same, he was privately glad she didn’t seem to want to talk. He had felt incredibly guilty all week for his inability to heal the teyrn, and he was sure she blamed him for it. If she wanted to keep her distance, then so much the better.

“Eat up,” Duncan said, brushing crumbs off his hands. “We should get moving. The king needs to know about what happened in Highever, and I need to check in on the Order.”

Eruestan and Rowena both quickly finished eating and then stood up. His entire body hurt, even though he didn’t dare say it out loud. If he was going to be a Grey Warden now, he didn’t want the others thinking that he was weak.

To his surprise, however, instead of pulling ahead as she normally did, Rowena took one look at the towers of Ostagar and held back, her face suddenly white. She then started following Duncan slowly, still keeping to the back of the group as if afraid of what would happen if she drew too close. Eruestan looked over at her and realized that the moment had finally come for them to talk.

Suddenly nervous, he walked up next to her and cleared his throat. “So,” he said. It was all he could think of to say.

She started, as if alarmed to have someone finally address her. “So,” she said back, looking over at him warily.

This had not been very well planned out. Awfully, all he could think of to say was “Sorry your parents died,” which of course he couldn’t do. Rowena was looking at him expectantly, and his mind was still blanking. “There are a lot of trees here, right?” he finally blurted out. It was what he would say to anyone else from the Tower, after all.

Rowena, however, furrowed her eyebrows, half-alarmed. “Yeah, I guess,” she said slowly, shying a few inches away from him. “Is that an elf thing to say?”

“I have no idea,” Eruestan said miserably, wanting to be swallowed up by the earth. “No, wait, Rowena – I just wanted…I just wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

“Ah,” Rowena said, her face going grim. “Right. I’m fine.”

Eruestan decided from the look on her face that it was best not to push her too hard on that. Still, there was something else he had to get off his chest as well. “I also wanted to apologize,” he said, looking away from her. “For everything that happened at the castle?”

“What?” Rowena asked. She looked shocked. “Apologize? What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath. “For what happened by the end,” he said. “When I couldn’t…I mean, with your father, I didn’t—”

She had grabbed his arm, cutting him off. “Eruestan, don’t be silly,” she said firmly. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but that is ridiculous. You saved all of our lives more than once that night – I’d be dead, too, if it weren’t for you. This is all Arl Howe’s fault, not anyone else’s.”

Eruestan watched her face set coldly, seeing, or perhaps only imagining to, the grief hidden behind her rage. “I’m so sorry, Rowena,” he said. “For everything.”

She smiled faintly at him and nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “But if you don’t mind, though, I’d rather not talk about it anymore. I’m going to have a hard enough time telling my brother – I don’t want to think about it for now.”

The mage nodded and gave her some space. Her ability to stay calm amazed him; in her shoes, he would have already collapsed.

The rest of the journey passed in relative silence. The landscape in the far south of Ferelden was rugged and rocky, spotted with impressive cliffs and mountains. Even this close to the horde, it was hard to believe that the country was facing a Blight. Most of the area seemed to have been untouched for decades, and in the sunlight the stark beauty of the countryside was breathtaking. Eruestan could only stop and admire it. It was moments like those that made him realize what he had been missing in his life at the Tower.

The nearer they drew to the fortress, however, the more evident it became that a large mass of people had recently passed through. Plants were trampled, dirt kicked up, and trash and manure were strewn throughout the forest. “How many people are here?” he wondered aloud as they passed a broken wagon abandoned under a tree.

“There are armies from all across Ferelden,” Duncan said. “The only one missing will be Amaranthine’s.”

“One of our largest,” Rowena said quietly from the side.

“That’s true,” Duncan said. “Fortunately, even without them we should have enough men on the field to stop the horde here.”

“Is _should_ really something we want to hear?” Eruestan asked, concerned. “I mean, if we fail here, how are we going to–”

He stopped mid-sentence, immediately awestruck by what had just opened up before them. Breaking through the last bit of forest, they had walked out under the cliffs carrying Ostagar, making the fortress reach even farther into the sky than it already did. Not that it needed any help looking taller; Ostagar was the tallest building he had ever seen. It was a massive stone structure, with imposing towers and mighty walls. Large statues of Tevinter magisters lined the ramparts, glaring down at any visitors approaching from the north. The fortress felt powerful, as if actively exerting control over the area. “Maker,” he breathed.

Even Rowena seemed impressed. “ _This_ was built by the Imperium?”

Duncan nodded. “Over 1600 years old and still standing tall.” He was cut off by a horn blaring in the distance. Vigils on the walls had started waving flags, and the giant iron gates up above them slowly began to rumble open. “It appears they’ve been expecting us. We should hurry.”

The nearer they drew to the fortress, the larger it seemed to become. Eruestan began to feel extremely small. True, the Circle Tower had Tevinter origins as well, and it, too, was very large. However, the largeness of his home was a very different type of large from the one before him. He had to stop himself from looking up at the top of the highest tower – the sight was making him dizzy.

The courtyard beyond the giant gates was just as massive. It appeared to serve as both a stable and a warehouse, full of braying horses and servants running around carrying crates and barrels. Unlike at Castle Cousland, however, chaos reigned in these stables. There were more putrid smells and rude, bustling people here than anywhere else Eruestan had ever been.

“Oy, watch it!” a wide man carrying an even wider barrel yelled as Eruestan stepped in front of him. Shooting the man a nasty look, Rowena grabbed Eruestan’s arm and dragged him a step back, keeping him close to her side.

“You have to pay attention in a place like this,” she scolded, although not unkindly. “Courtyards are really dangerous, I’m always getting in people’s – _shite_!”

“People shite in your courtyard?” Eruestan asked. He then followed her horrified gaze to an archway on the other side of the stables. “Rowena?”

A small group of soldiers was walking towards them, all dressed in gleaming armor. At their front was a very handsome, tall young man wearing a suit of armor plated in gold. Judging by the way Rowena was looking at him, Eruestan assumed she knew him. Judging by the way she was blushing, he assumed she wished she knew him better.

“Duncan!” the golden man called as he approached. He had a rich, cheerful voice that rang out even in the bray of the stables. “We were afraid you were going to miss the battle!”

Duncan walked up to the man and bowed. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said. Eruestan felt his eyes bulge. “Rest assured, the Fereldan Wardens will be at your side in full force.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” King Cailan beamed. “Our scouts say the horde is closer than we feared – they may be only two days away from us.”

“Has there been any more fighting?” Duncan asked.

The king shook his head. “Nothing beyond a few skirmishes in the Wilds – we haven’t seen the Archdemon yet, either.” He sighed. “I have to say, Duncan, so far this Blight is very disappointing.”

Duncan stared at him for a second. “Disappointing, Your Majesty?”

Cailan nodded. “All the stories said the darkspawn are so evil the Maker himself would run away from them, yet every time we meet them in the Wilds, we’ve beat them off easily enough. And still no sign of the Archdemon!” He shrugged. “I guess that doesn’t matter, though – at least you’re here. Cutting down darkspawn alongside the Grey Wardens will be like something out of a tale. They may even write one about it!” His eyes shining with the promise of future glory, the king clapped Duncan on the back and then peered good-naturedly at his companions. “I see you found your recruits, then?”

“Ah, yes.” Duncan turned to Eruestan first and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Your Majesty, may I present to you Ser Eruestan Surana, from the Circle of Magi.”

Eruestan’s eyes were still wide as he bowed before the king. Meeting people outside the Tower was stressful enough as it was, let alone when they were the monarch. What’s more, the king was terribly handsome, and it made him feel all the more awkward. “I’m honored, Your Majesty,” he stammered, trying to keep his voice firm.

“The honor is all mine, ser mage,” Cailan replied. Eruestan flushed. “Your magic will be much needed in the battle to come.”

“And then I believe you already know my second recruit,” Duncan said, gesturing to Rowena and her hound.

“Why, Lady Rowena!” the king said in surprise. Rowena bowed before him, her face bright red. Eruestan was deeply amused to see that she was just as addled as he had been. “I’m shocked! Your brother told me you wouldn’t be coming down south!” He looked over her shoulder in anticipation. “Is your father with you? We’ve been expecting him and Arl Howe for some time now.”

Rowena went pale. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid neither my father nor Arl Howe will be coming to Ostagar,” she said quietly, her eyes dropping to the ground.

Cailan frowned. “What?”

“Your Majesty, Bryce and Eleanor Cousland are dead,” Duncan said gravely. “Rendon Howe surprised Castle Cousland in the dead of the night and slaughtered everyone inside. Had we not been able to escape ourselves, none of us would be here before you now.”

The king turned sharply to Rowena. “Is this true, my lady?”

She looked back up at him, her face expressionless. “Every word, Your Majesty.”

“Then Howe will pay,” the king said coldly. “He’s not just betrayed House Cousland, he’s betrayed the Crown as well.” He looked back at her sympathetically. “I wish I could send you to your brother,” he said. “Unfortunately, Teyrn Loghain and I sent him and a few of his men a scouting mission earlier this morning. They’re not expected back until just before the battle.”

Rowena’s face did not move; however, Eruestan knew that that had to be a devastating blow. “I understand. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The king turned back to Duncan. “See to your recruits, Duncan, then meet me in my tent. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Duncan bowed once more. “Of course, sire. I’ll be with you shortly.” Cailan nodded and returned to his guards, who escorted him back towards the camp.

Eruestan watched him leave, clearing his head a bit after what had just happened. As impressed as he was by meeting the king, something still sat a little strangely with him. “So…did the king just call the Blight ‘disappointing’, or was I hearing things?” he asked, turning to Duncan.

The commander sighed. “King Cailan is a young man, one raised on tales and storybooks. I’m afraid this means he often…romanticizes, shall we say, certain situations.”

“He’s still a very skilled warrior,” Rowena said, sounding slightly defensive. “And the people love him.”

“Both very true,” Duncan agreed. “So long as His Majesty doesn’t ask me to charge alone against the horde with a single blade drawn, we should all be fine. But enough of this. We need to get to business. I’ll be with the king for some time, which unfortunately means I can’t do much for you here. Look for a Grey Warden in camp by the name of Alistair – he’ll show you around and introduce you to the other recruits until I’m ready to send you on your first mission.”

“Our mission?” Rowena asked.

Duncan nodded. “It concerns your Joining ceremony, something Alistair will tell you more about. Until then, farewell.”

The two bowed as Duncan left. They were left standing alone in the courtyard, surrounded by the sea of servants. Eruestan looked over at Rowena; her face was still flushed, and suddenly he felt the urge to make fun of her. “So…” he murmured, “you and King Cailan, huh?”

Rowena stood up straight, as if she had been stabbed. “Pardon?”

The elf shrugged, grinning wickedly. “I mean, it’s no big deal. He’s really handsome, I totally get it…”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said coldly.

“Oh really?” Eruestan asked innocently. “‘He’s _such_ an amazing warrior, everyone _loves_ him, a _wonderful_ , _exemplary_ ruler—’”

“I – oh, shove off,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. He grinned back, happy to have made her laugh. “Let’s just find this Alistair fellow and get this over with.”

The two of them exited the stables through the same arch the king had used, walking onto a giant bridge that crossed a gaping valley. Eruestan stopped at the railing and pointed out beyond. “Look at that,” he breathed. “These must be the Korcari Wilds.”

A vast stretch of wizened trees sprawled out before them, stretching back into the horizon. An eerie mist seemed to seep out from between them, as if surging from the ground itself. Most disturbing of all, however, were the evil-looking clouds broiling in the distance, tinged with green and churning violently. Cormac began to howl; Rowena patted his head and whistled. “Looks like rain,” she remarked.

Eruestan frowned. “I don’t really know all that much about weather,” he admitted, “but if what I’ve read on the Blights is correct, that might be the darkspawn taint in the air.”

“Oh, good,” she said faintly. “Evil taint rain, everyone’s favorite.”

Eruestan grimaced and turned back to the bridge. A servant was passing by, struggling under the weight of the pile of boxes he was carrying. “Excuse me,” he asked politely. “Do you know where we could find the Grey Warden Alistair?”

The man looked like he had been spit on. “Did you fuckin’ say somethin’ to me, knife-ears?”

Eruestan stared at him, confused. “Come again?”

That was all he could say before a blur of red hair leapt in front of him, flashing a steel blade in the man’s face. The boxes fell to the ground, the wood splintering as it hit the stone. “So, a smart guy, huh?” Rowena said calmly, ignoring his loud squawks of horror. Eruestan looked on in alarm and complete, total bewilderment. “Since you’re so smart, I’m going to give you some options, and I know you’re going to choose wisely. So, first, I could cut off one of your nasty, crusty ears and give to my friend you just insulted as a gift.” She twitched her sword a little; the man began to whimper. “Oh, not a fan of that one? Well, then, I _could_ have my hound here rip your balls off instead.” Cormac growled viciously, and the man lost what little color he had left in his face. “Finally, you could apologize to my friend, and promise me that I’ll never, ever catch you saying that word ever again.”

“Option three,” he sobbed. “Option three!”

“See, you are smarter than you look,” she smiled. With a heave, she threw him at Eruestan’s feet. The elf took a step back, wondering just how stable his companion was. “Now, go on.”

“My apologies, serah,” the man choked out. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s quite all right,” Eruestan said, embarrassed. He still had no idea what was going on, and a small crowd of people had gathered around to see what was happening. “Again, though, could you tell me where to find Alistair, please?”

“He’s with the mages – that’s where he always is!” he squeaked. “Please let me go before she hurts me!”

“Oh, you’re lucky you’re getting off easy this time!” Rowena shouted as the man ran off, leaving the boxes where they lay. “The rest of you can clear out, too! Nothing to see here!” She shook her head as the people watching them began to disperse, giving her and Cormac a wide berth. “Man, Southerners, am I right?”

“So, uh, Rowena,” Eruestan said warily. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah,” she said, sheathing her sword. “That felt really good, actually.”

That wasn’t reassuring. “I’m sorry, what was all that about?”

She stared at him as if he were the crazy one. “Seriously? He called you a…well, you know…” He shook his head at her, still waiting for an explanation. She grimaced and leaned in closer. “A knife-ear,” she whispered, looking horrified to have said it herself.

“Okay,” Eruestan said, still in the dark. “Is that bad?”

Rowena was looking more and more mortified. “You’ve never heard of knife-ears before?” she asked incredulously. He shook his head. “It’s a really, really nasty word for elves.”

“Oh!” Eruestan was taken aback. Even the worst apprentices at the Tower had never thrown anything like that at him. Things between elves and humans were apparently worse than he had ever realized.

“Sorry,” Rowena said, wincing. “I probably overreacted back there – we never let anyone talk like that back at High—back at home. I think I just snapped a little.”

“No, it’s all right,” he said, still trying to wrap his head around what she had just said. A thought occurred to him. “Why ‘knife-ears’, though? It sounds a little stupid.”

“Well, I don’t think the point was to make it sound nice,” Rowena said, flushing. “But you get it, right? I mean, you know…the ears. They’re a little…pointy.”

“Ah,” he said, feeling around the slope of his ear. He should have never left the Circle. “Well, that’s great. Shall we, then?”

Visibly glad that the discussion was over, Rowena led the two of them to the other side of the bridge. Stepping under an archway, they entered the main camp, taking a moment to get their bearings. The enclosure beyond was filled with a vast sea of tents and wooden scaffolding, flags blowing in the breeze that had come in from the Wilds. There were people everywhere, more people than Eruestan had ever seen. The training grounds were filled with men and women sparring, the clashes of steel ringing throughout the camp. Everywhere else, soldiers were transporting goods, polishing their weapons, strolling through the tents, playing dice games, checking on Mabari hounds… This was what an army looked like, Eruestan realized – a giant, writhing mess.

“All right, Eruestan, you’re the expert,” Rowena said, scanning the crowd. “Does anything here look like a group of mages to you?”

“If it’s anything like what I grew up with, they’re probably going to be next to the chantry, if there is one,” Eruestan said. “What do you think about that steeple over there?”

“It’s a good a guess as any,” she said, shrugging. “Come on, follow me.”

They began to walk through the crowd. Rowena and Cormac led the way expertly, while Eruestan followed behind closely, praying he wasn’t about to get stepped on. No one seemed to pay them any attention, everyone too occupied with their own business to care about anyone else. The elf made sure to keep very close behind Rowena. If he lost her, there was no telling what would happen.

The chantry at Ostagar was nothing more than a small chapel, made even smaller by the towers surrounding the fortress. As they drew closer, however, Eruestan suddenly felt his stomach clench. They had found the mage enclosure; two Templar knights were blocking the entrance.

“Is that them?” Rowena asked, pointing to the Templars. He nodded, feeling both sick and relieved at the same time. After the past two weeks in the outside world, he couldn’t deny that he was happy to see something familiar. At the same time, seeing the Templars immediately reminded him of the looks on Greagoir and Irving’s faces just before he had left. He drew back a little, the wave of shame growing again in his stomach.

Rowena, however, was plunging forward. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, nodding at them. “We’re just looking for Alistair…”

“Halt,” one of them boomed. Rowena looked up in surprise. “No soldiers are allowed past this point.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“This part of the camp is reserved for the army’s mages,” the other man said. “No one is allowed to enter or leave without our permission.”

“Like I said, we’re looking for the Grey Warden named Alistair,” she replied, her voice growing as cold as theirs. “Is he here?”

The knights exchanged a look. “Yes, he has,” the Templar replied. “He came with a message from the Grand Cleric.”

Rowena nodded. “All right – may we go see him, then?”

“That depends,” one of the knights said. “Do you also have a message from the Grand Cleric?”

“No,” she admitted.

He smiled smugly. “Then no.”

She frowned further. “Well, why not?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Because I said so, that’s why!”

Rowena paused, scratching at her neck. “Well, say we _did_ have a message from the Grand Cleric…”

The knight sighed. “That might work on stupider men, but no little girl is going to trick me.”

Rowena’s mouth dropped in horror. “Why, you bloody—”

“Rowena, come on, let’s go,” Eruestan said quickly. He could tell that things were quickly getting out of hand, and he didn’t want to see what the Templars would do to them. “We can find him later, we don’t want any trouble—”

“Hell yes we do!” she snapped. “I did not trek across the entire blighted Bannorn to be bossed around by a stuck-up, lyrium-addicted, city guard reject!”

Eruestan went completely pale. “ _Rowena_!”

The two Templars stood there, stunned. “What did you just say?” one of them asked, his face darkening in front of them.

“Oh, sorry,” Rowena snapped. “Should I make that a _deaf_ , stuck-up, lyrium-addicted, city guard reject?”

“Who are you, boy?” one of the men asked Eruestan suddenly, noticing his robes. “Are you a mage?”

Eruestan was frozen in place, convinced that he had somehow fallen into a terrible nightmare.

“Yes, he is!’ Rowena said, breaking the silence. “And he’s also a Grey Warden, like me! So unless you’d personally like to tell the Warden Commander why you kept us from obeying his orders, you better let us through!”

One of the guards sighed. “Oh, Andraste’s bright, blushing ass, there are _more_ of you bloody Wardens now? We can barely stand your collected ego as it is!”

His partner turned to stare at him in horror. “Marten! How dare you? Don’t blaspheme against our sacred Lady Savior and Prophet with such disgusting speech!”

“Oh, please,” Marten snorted, looking over at the other knight. “Like the Blessed Lady gives a rat’s ass.”

“ _Marten_!”

“What?” the Templar said. “She’s living with the Maker, what’s she got to complain about?”

The first knight looked to be on the brink of having a stroke. “Marten, if you don’t take back what you said right now I’ll have to report you to the Grand Cleric!”

“Oy!” Rowena said. They both started and looked back at her. “While I hate to interrupt such an important religious debate, my friend and I still need to pass through!”

“Oh, calm down, Carrot-top,” the knight Marten sighed. “Go on, you can come through – just keep your head down in here, all right?”

They walked past, Rowena with head held high, Eruestan with his eyes to the ground. Once they’d moved out of earshot, Eruestan stepped in front of her and glared. “Are you insane?” he hissed. “What was that?”

“What?” she asked. “I got us through, didn’t I?”

"You can’t say things like that to the Templars!” he said. “They’re respected warriors, the arm of the Chantry!”

“Are they Grey Wardens?” she asked.

“Well, no,” he said, “but then, neither are we.”

“We’re close enough,” she responded. “Now come on, we need to find this Alistair.”

 Fortunately, they didn’t have far to look, as it seemed Alistair was coming to them.

“I don’t care how many Grey Wardens she throws at me, I will not be ordered around by anyone!” someone inside the nearest tent barked. “Not even the Grand Cleric!”

“Perhaps you would prefer a messenger pigeon in the future, then, serah,” someone else replied. He was clearly younger and had a nice voice, one that was clearly losing patience with the conversation.

There was a rustling from within. “Don’t be smart with me, boy.”

“Smart? You called me an idiot five minutes ago, I’m moving on up!”

“Idiot boy!”

“Well, that didn’t last long. Now, look, I know you mages have been doing a lot for the war effort, but could you please just take five minutes to go see the Grand Cleric? She’s a very frightening old woman and I’m afraid of what she’d do to me if I come back without an answer. She’s very into the whole ‘kill the messenger’ idea.”

There was a brief pause, and then a long sigh. “Fine, if I must. Don’t think I don’t know what this means, though, her sending _you_ of all people…Now, if there isn’t anything else…”

 “Actually…” The other voice hesitated. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t tell if that’s a mole on your face or a bit of food, and if it’s food I just thought I should probably say something…”

“ _Out of my way, fool_!” The tent flap rustled open and an angry bald mage stormed out. “Who are you two?” he demanded, glaring at Eruestan and Rowena. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re, um, we’re…” Rowena said, distracted by his admittedly very large mole.

“We’re here for Alistair,” Eruestan finished, bowing respectfully. The man was Senior Enchanter Uldred, a famous enchanter in the Tower. Even the apprentices knew about his mole, an impressive blemish on his upper lip.

The mage glared back into the tent. “By all means, take him. He’s of no use to me.”

“Hey now,” the other voice complained, “I’ve got a lot of talents, actually. I’m even a very good juggler.” A very young man emerged from the tent, no older than Eruestan or Rowena. He was blond and handsome, with broad shoulders and a wide smile. For some reason, Eruestan had the strange feeling that he had met him before. “Now, who needs me?” Alistair asked, looking around pleasantly. His eyes fell on Rowena, and Eruestan almost had to laugh. The Warden looked like he was staring into the sun. “Oh!” he said, his jaw practically dropping open. “Hi! What’s up?”

“Please get him out of my sight,” Uldred snapped, brushing past them. “He’s your problem now.”

Alistair sighed as the mage stormed out of the enclosure. “You know, at the very least these Blights show that even in the darkest times, people still maintain a sense of decency and compassion.”

“Warms the heart, doesn’t it?” Rowena said drily. “What was that about?”

He rolled his eyes, still clearly pleased that she was talking to him. “The Chantry and the mages have been at each other’s throats since they got here. I’m just trying to stay out of the way before someone tries to turn me into a toad.”

“A toad?” Eruestan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alistair froze, eyes running over the elf’s robes. “Oh, not that mages do that, of course – I mean, not that I think they would if they could – I mean, I’m sure they’re nice people – which isn’t to say that I think all mages are the same – I…” He stopped himself and took a deep breath. “Sorry. Let’s start over, shall we? I’m Alistair, Junior Warden. Please don’t turn me into a toad.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not very high on my to-do list,” Eruestan said, smiling. Rowena scoffed and tilted her head at Alistair, looking curiously in his face. He almost laughed – that hadn’t taken long at all. “My name’s Eruestan, this is Rowena, and this is Cormac.”

“Nice to meet you!” Alistair said. “What can I do for you?”

Eruestan and Rowena glanced at each other. “Duncan sent us,” Rowena said. “He said you’d look after us.”

“Duncan?” Alistair perked up. “Is he back already? Oh, great! But wait!” His face lit up in excitement, looking back and forth between the two of them. “That must mean you’re the new recruits, then!” A huge grin had broken out on his face, and he looked like he was on the verge of giving them a hug. “Well, hi! Welcome to the Order! You guys are going to have so much fun!”

“Really?” Eruestan asked.

“Not at all,” he said happily. “All the same, though, it’s great not being the newest member anymore. I almost cried when I heard Daveth and Jory were joining, it was so beautiful.”

“Daveth and Jory?” Rowena asked. “There are more recruits?”

Alistair nodded. “Here, let me show you around, and then I can take you to them.” He led them around the tent and gestured around himself. “Well, to start with, we’re currently in the mage’s quarters of camp. There aren’t a lot of them here, though, so the Templars have had a pretty easy time keeping most of them out of the way. And speaking of which…”

They had approached the exit to the enclosure, where the two Templars were still debating passionately. “All I’m saying is, I think the Maker has more on his mind than a few off-hand remarks about his beloved,” Marten was saying crossly. Catching sight of the Wardens, he turned around and crossed his arms. “Well, well, the mighty Alistair is back again. What an honor.”

Alistair had turned bright red. “Knock it off, Marten.”

Rowena was evidently feeling less conciliatory. “You know, when they talk about the Templars, they never bring up how much idle yapping you do. Is running your mouths part of the Maker’s plan, too?”

Both Alistair and Eruestan looked back at her as if she was insane. The Templars, however, merely scowled and let them pass, shooting Rowena a particularly nasty look as she marched through.

“So, all right, then,” Alistair said, looking back at her in shock. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone talk to the Templars like that.”

“I’m just tired of people behaving like asses,” Rowena said coldly. “What was the matter with them, anyways? Are they like this to everyone?”

Eruestan shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“They’ve got special reason to go after me, though,” Alistair said. “I actually left the Order to join the Wardens.”

“You were a Templar?” Eruestan asked in shock.

 “I trained to be, at least,” he said, starting to lead them through the camp. “I never took any vows, though. Duncan recruited me a month before I was supposed to be fully initiated. Didn’t really make the Grand Cleric happy, but then nothing does.” He shrugged and led them down a row of tents. “But whatever, enough about me. Welcome to camp! Right down here is the chief blacksmith, there’s the armory, and…oh, you probably don’t want to see the gibbet, actually,” he said hurriedly, leading them away from a row of hanging cages full of half-starved men and women in ragged clothing.

Eruestan stared up at them, unable to look away. He had never seen people in such misery before. Most of them seemed to have been locked there for days, their eyes empty in sunken-in faces. “Why are they in there?” he asked.

“Deserters,” Alistair said grimly. “Most of them are stragglers coming back from recon missions in the Wilds. We haven’t had too many problems, mainly because of crackdowns like this. Still, it’s hard to blame them when you look at what we’re up against…” He sighed and shook his head. “There are a lot nicer areas in camp, though!”

“Like the infirmary?” Rowena asked in alarm, peering around him at the rows of beds stretching out in front of them.

“Well, I didn’t necessarily say we were _going_ to one of the more pleasant areas,” Alistair said quickly. “Come on, though, the quickest way to our quarters is through here.”

The group proceeded through the sea of cots, trying to ignore the cries of pain and anguish. Rowena and Alistair pulled ahead; Eruestan, however, strayed. Despite his best efforts, he found it impossible to resist looking at the grim wounds some of the soldiers bore. One soldier in particular drew his attention. The man was lying bare-chested on a cot, his eyes closed. Something absolutely horrific had happened to him. His skin, which was mottled and slimy, seemed to have begun to shrink, leaving him with bared teeth and wide, popping eyes. Equally fascinated and repulsed, Eruestan took a step forward to examine him more closely…and then shot back in terror when the man seized his arm and wrenched him closer.

“ _We need to run_ ,” the man shrieked, eyes spinning wildly. “They’re like maggots on flesh, they’ll destroy us all! They will feed on us! They will eat us from the inside!”

“I…I…” Eruestan stammered, trying to break free. The man was surprisingly strong, his eyes unfocused as he began to slowly drag Eruestan’s hand towards his mouth. Rowena and Alistair were turning around up ahead, trying to figure out what was going on. Eruestan tried to pull back, but the man had him paralyzed, his eyes locking onto his.

“I can feel it,” he hissed, his words flavored with a fear so intense it made the elf’s blood run cold. “Their taint. It’s in the air, in the trees, in my thoughts… _we are all going to die._ ”

“ _Serah Rorke_!” someone shouted.  Three women appeared out of nowhere around the man, pulling him off Eruestan. One of them, a tall woman with white hair, touched his forehead and muttered a few words. A blue cloud of smoke appeared around his head, and with a sigh, he collapsed back against his pillow.

The woman pulled her hand back and smoothed out her robes. “I’m so sorry about that,” she said matter-of-factly to Eruestan. “We’ve been trying to keep an eye on him, but with so many injured soldiers…”

Alistair and Rowena ran up to them, eyes wide in alarm. “What happened?” Alistair asked. “Are you all right?”

 “I’m fine,” Eruestan said quickly. He turned back to the woman. “What happened to him?”

The mage shook her head sadly. “He was found two days ago in the Korcari Wilds. His scouting party has been missing for a week.”

“He survived that long in the Wilds by himself?” Alistair said in disbelief. “Maker…”

“Does he have any hope of recovery?” Eruestan asked.

The mage shook her head. “No spell I know of is strong enough to stop the spread of the taint in his body. All I can do now is ease his pain.” She peered closely at Eruestan. “I think I recognize you. Your name is Eruestan, isn’t it?” He nodded in surprise. “Irving has told me a lot about you,” she said warmly. “I’m Wynne, one of the Senior Enchanters back at the Circle.”

Eruestan started and bowed before her. Wynne was highly respected at the Circle. “I’m honored to meet you, Enchanter,” he said.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” she said. “And given your company, I think I owe _you_ the honor. Has Greagoir finally let one of our mages join the Grey Wardens?”

Eruestan felt his stomach clench. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, he has.”

“Well, he certainly chose well,” Wynne said, smiling. “I’ve never heard Irving speak more highly of an apprentice. In fact, several of us had a bet running to see who would get to work with you once you became a mage – I suppose it’s too late for that now, though.” The elf blushed furiously. Her words were very kind, but they also reminded him of everything he had lost at the Circle. Seeing Wynne’s proud gaze shamed him deeply. Before he could say anything, however, there was a cry from a bed a few rows down. “Oh, dear, please excuse me,” Wynne said, looking over her shoulder. “Maker keep you all in the days to come.”

“And you,” Alistair called as she ran off. He looked down at the sleeping soldier, grimacing at his deformed skin. “Maker…he’s seen better days, hasn’t he?”

“What’s going to happen to him?” Rowena asked quietly.

Alistair shrugged and shook his head. “If he’s lucky, he’ll die in a day or two. You ask me, though, he’s probably on his way to becoming a ghoul.”

That didn’t sound good. “A ghoul?” Eruestan asked.

He nodded. “If you live long enough with it, the Taint will corrupt you to the point of insanity. You’ll forget who you are, what you are…and eventually you start developing a taste for human flesh. Only if you live, of course.”

Eruestan felt sick. Rowena, too, had turned slightly green. “Could we maybe move forward a bit?” she asked. “I suddenly want to vomit.”

Alistair smiled grimly. “Don’t worry. You may not believe me now, but you’ll get used to this sort of thing after a while. We had a man brought in from the Wilds the other night who was practically torn in half by the darkspawn. Poor guy didn’t last the night.”  His face suddenly brightened considerably. “Oh, and here’s the canteen!”

As they continued through the camp, Eruestan couldn’t help but notice that the general atmosphere was less one of horror or anxiety but rather one of great excitement. Despite whatever horrors these men might have seen, everyone seemed perfectly content (almost thrilled, in fact) to be so near a giant horde of bloodthirsty creatures. Even the soldiers praying around the makeshift chantry seemed to be doing so in calm anticipation of things to come.

“Things seem a little less dire than what we’ve been hearing,” he remarked, walking past a tent where a group of soldiers appeared to be playing some sort of joint arm-wrestling drinking game.

Alistair shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. King Cailan’s done a really good job of convincing people that the situation’s under control – now almost everyone thinks it’s really true.”

“But you don’t?” Rowena asked.

He glanced over at her. “If you want my opinion, the only two men who know what’s going on in this whole camp are Duncan and Teyrn Loghain, and neither of them look exactly thrilled with what we’re dealing with. I’ll relax once they do.”

“Speaking of Duncan, he mentioned something about a Joining ceremony later tonight,” Eruestan said. “What exactly does that mean?”

Alistair froze for a second. “Erm…the Joining is a necessary ritual for every initiate into the order. Yours will have to be tonight, otherwise we might not have time before the darkspawn arrive.”

Eruestan nodded slowly, trying to keep his face from showing the rush of fear he’d felt at the thought of darkspawn. “What will we have to do?”

“That’s a secret,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry, I hated it when they told me that, too – you’ll understand why afterwards, trust me.” He led them through an archway into a small clearing. “But anyways, here we are! Grey Warden headquarters.”

It was not terribly impressive. A collection of about eight tents was nestled around a small campfire, weapons and pieces of armor littering the ground. A blonde dwarven woman sat by the fire, grinding a battle-axe that was easily twice her size.

“Hello, Unga,” Alistair said cheerfully, walking up to her. “Where’s everyone else?”

She shrugged. “Eddric led a raiding party into the Wilds earlier today; I got stuck with babysitting duty.” She looked up at Rowena and Eruestan. “Who’re they?”

“Our newest recruits!” he said. “Unga, I’d like you to meet Eruestan and Rowena!”

“Pleased to meet you,” Eruestan said politely. He had never actually met a dwarf before, and he was interested to see what this one would be like.

“Yeah, whatever,” Unga said. He blinked at her, a little stunned by her rudeness. “Alistair, stop introducing me to the spawn fodder. I don’t want to learn the names of people that are just going to die on me in two days.”

“Um, Unga,” Alistair said nervously, seeing the panicked look on Eruestan’s face. “We talked about this, remember? How we weren’t going to scare the new recruits?”

“The world’s a scary place, Alistair,” Unga said harshly. Eruestan decided he didn’t like this dwarf. “I mean, come on. Why is Duncan insisting on forcing so much fresh meat on us? How are we even supposed to be able to train them in time?”

“I don’t need training,” Rowena said proudly, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword.

“Yeah, sure, sweetheart, and I’m the Queen of Orzammar,” Unga said. “And I mean, look at this one! One fart and you can knock him over!”

Eruestan wanted to say something, but he had to admit that she was probably right. Even Rowena, normally ready for any fight, seemed a little cowed by the dwarf’s attitude. Only Alistair was able to roll his eyes and hold up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, Unga, come on,” he said, standing protectively in front of Eruestan and Rowena. “You were a recruit once too, you know.”

“I’m a dwarf, kid,” she said. “We’re born fighting darkspawn.” She sighed and went back to her axe. “But whatever. To be honest, I feel better about these two than the other ones. That Jored’s got all the strength of a bronto with about half the brains, and Davis’s got all that weird neck hair business going on.”

Alistair seemed to be fighting back a smile. “It’s ‘Jory’ and ‘Daveth’, Unga.”

“Again, do I look like I give a shit?” she said. “Anyways, they’re busy being good at nothing somewhere around here. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to continue pretending that I’m burying Stoneslicer here into some hurlock’s arsehole.”

“Don’t mind her,” Alistair murmured as they headed over to the other side of camp. “She’s seen a lot of recruits come and go, is all.”

“Go?” Eruestan asked, confused. “People are allowed to just leave the Order?”

Alistair froze. “Er…well, in a sense, yes, I guess…”

“What sense is that?”

“The dead one?” he said. Blushing at the looks of alarm on Eruestan and Rowena’s faces, he turned around and cleared his throat. “Oh, good, look, Jory and Daveth! You two! Over here!”

Pushing the idea of his imminent death from his mind for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day, Eruestan looked over to see two very different men approach them from around the nearest tent. The first was absolutely massive, a giant of a man with slightly thinning hair and a stupid expression. The second was quite small, had a very strange haircut, and gave Eruestan a look that instinctively made him check his pockets.

“Alistair, thank the Maker you’re here,” the large one said. His voice was thick and dull, like mud in a river. “I have reason to believe that this thief has loined my of my goods.”

 “It’s ‘purloined’, idiot, and what would I want with your shit?” the other one shot back. “All you’ve got is that picture of that bloody cow you cry over every night.”

The other man looked scandalized. “How dare you insult my Helena!” He paused and looked back at Alistair. “Is it really ‘purloined’?”

“Yes,” Alistair said patiently. “And what’s Daveth purloined this time, Jory?”

 “I can’t find my undershirt,” the knight said coldly.

 “And I told him he probably already put his undershirt on!” Daveth snapped.

Jory scoffed. “I think I’d know if I had my undershirt on, thief!”

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. “Well…do you have your undershirt on, Jory?”

“No, of course not!” the knight shouted. “This thief has taken it, and now my breastplate is itching something fierce!”

Rowena frowned. “Your armor’s… _itchy_?”

 “Yes!” The knight paused. “Er…yes…yes, it…it is…” He started to blush.

“You’re wearing your undershirt, aren’t you?” Alistair asked quietly.

“Maybe,” the knight whispered.

“Idiot,” Daveth muttered.

“Well, okay!” Alistair said, clapping his hands. “Men, I’d like to introduce to you our newest recruits, Rowena and Eruestan!”

Jory’s eyes widened as he looked at Rowena. “Lady Rowena? You’re to be a Grey Warden?”

Rowena gave an extremely strained smile. “Yes, yes I am.”

 Alistair looked surprised. “ _Lady_ Rowena? You’re a noble?”

“She’s not just a noble!” Jory said. “She’s the Teyrn of Highever’s daughter! I was a knight in your father’s service, milady, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Shite!” Alistair said, eyebrows raised in shock. “You’re Bryce Cousland’s daughter?”

Rowena’s strained smile was now a flat-out grimace. “Yes…”

“Yeah, yeah, honored I’m sure, all that,” Daveth said. “You’re telling me they let little girls and elves into the order, now, too?”

Rowena turned to him and glared. “Watch it, Neckbeard.”

“Lady Rowena is an excellent warrior, Daveth,” Jory said stiffly. “If they let a street rat like _you_ in, she’s more than eligible.”

“Hey, I’m here _because_ I’m a street rat, arsehole,” Daveth retorted. “Duncan only recruited me because I managed to cut his purse before he noticed me.”

“Yeah, well, unless you’re hoping to pickpocket the Archdemon, I can’t quite see how that’s going to come in handy,” Jory sneered.

“Hey, now, everyone’s got their talents,” Alistair said. “Duncan chose all of you for a reason. You wouldn’t have been recruited if he didn’t think you had what it took to defeat the Blight.”

“My thoughts exactly,” a voice said behind them. Everyone turned around to see Duncan approach the Grey Warden campsite. Accompanying him was a very tall, imposing man with a long face and an impressive suit of armor. “Well said, Alistair.”

The knight turned bright red. “Thank you, Duncan,” he stammered. “I didn’t realize you’d come here so soon.”

Duncan gestured to the man beside him. “As soon as His Grace heard that Rowena was with us, he insisted on coming here right away.”

The man bowed. “Lady Rowena. You have my condolences.”

Rowena looked like a statue. “Thank you, Teyrn Loghain.”

Eruestan suddenly felt very small again. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir was easily the most famous man in Ferelden. A great war hero, he had been the best friend of King Maric and had played a major role in the rebellion against Orlais. He had once visited the Circle when he was a child, and the entire Tower had talked about it in rapture for months afterwards. Just like with the king, the idea that such a celebrity was now chatting calmly with them was extremely disorienting.

  "It was a disgusting act of treason,” the teyrn was saying gravely. “This will be punished, you have my word.” Rowena nodded silently, her face still expressionless. “Now, I expect you’ll want to speak with your brother,” Loghain said. “Unfortunately, I sent him out on a scouting mission a day ago.”

“His Majesty told me as such,” Rowena said quietly. “My duties for now lie with the Grey Wardens.”

 “Spoken like a true Cousland,” Loghain said approvingly.

“I’m confused,” Alistair murmured to Eruestan. “What happened?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Eruestan murmured back.

“The idea that Arl Howe would betray us all at a time like this is unthinkable,” Loghain continued. “Was everyone in the castle killed?”

Rowena nodded. “Everyone from my father to the kitchen staff. My hound and I were the only survivors.”

“Yeah, that’s essentially the story,” Eruestan murmured weakly to Alistair.

 “Maker.” His face was pale with horror.

The teyrn shook his head. “The Howe family will pay. Treachery like this will not be tolerated.” He turned back to Duncan. “Well, Warden Commander, I leave you to your men. I will see you at the war council at dusk.”

Duncan bowed. “Until then, Your Grace.”

There was an awkward silence as Loghain left the camp. Jory shuffled around uncomfortably. “So, wait…the teyrn is dead?”

Rowena ignored him. “Alistair said you’d be giving details on our first mission,” she said to Duncan.

He nodded. “What I’m about to ask of you needs to be accomplished sooner rather than later. We need you to finish as soon as possible if you want to complete your Joining before the coming battle.”

“What is this Joining, exactly?” Daveth asked. “It’s been two weeks now and no one will tell us.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Duncan said. “Until then, I’ll need you to enter the Korcari Wilds.”

There was a beat of silence. “The…Wilds?” Daveth whispered, his hardened façade immediately fading away. “You want us to go into the Wilds?”

Duncan nodded, staring at him with slightly narrowed eyes.

“We can’t go into the Wilds!” Jory said. “Who knows what’s out there?”

“Wolves, bears, bloodthirsty barbarians, and a vast horde of darkspawn,” the Commander replied. “Coincidentally, that’s what the first half of your mission will be about.” He pulled out four crystal vials from a pouch at his waist. “In order to complete the ritual tonight, each of you needs to fill one of these with the blood of a darkspawn.”

Eruestan felt his heart flutter. “Blood of a darkspawn?”

“Yes,” Duncan said. “Alistair will go with you – as a Grey Warden, he’ll sense the darkspawn before they sense you.”

 “That’s bloody reassuring,” Daveth mumbled to himself.

“Your second mission is equally as important,” Duncan continued. “Not far from here is an abandoned Grey Warden outpost. It was abandoned during Sophia Dryden’s war a century ago, and in the haste to evacuate it the Order left many important documents behind.”

“You want us to go after some pieces of paper?” Rowena asked.

He shook his head. “This isn’t just any paper. Within the ruins are a stack of treaties binding the elves, dwarves, and mages of Ferelden to our cause should we be threatened by the Blight. We need to find these documents to remind our fellows of their duty to the Grey Wardens.”

Jory frowned. “What’s the point in that? Isn’t our plan to stop the horde here before they advance?”

There was a moment of silence. Duncan cleared his throat. “The papers should be within an enchanted chest inside the ruins. I’ve given Alistair a map – it shouldn’t take you too long to find it. I’ll expect you all to return by sunset.”

“Oh, not too long, huh?” Jory scoffed. “Do you want us to do it blindfolded, too?”

Duncan gave the knight a long, hard look, one that gave Eruestan a chill. “I understand that what I’m asking of you may seem daunting,” he said. “However, all this is nothing compared to what you’ll be expected to do should you join the Order. If this mission is too much for you, I’m afraid I might have to reconsider my invitation of recruitment.”

Jory looked dumbfounded. “That…er…that won’t be necessary…”

“Excellent,” Duncan said.  “Alistair, I know you’ve only just joined the Order, but I still trust that you’ll be able to handle this mission on your own.”

He nodded. “I won’t let you down, Duncan.”

“Good. Eddric and some others are on a scouting party, I’ve been told – hopefully they’ll be able to come to your aide should you need it.” He turned around. “Eruestan, Rowena, I’m afraid I owe the two of you an apology. I’ve checked with the armory, and we don’t have any other equipment to give you. Rest assured, once the battle is over, we’ll have ample time to get you proper gear.”

“That’s fine,” Rowena said. “If this got me here from Highever, it’ll get me through the next few days, too.”

Eruestan had less confidence in his already-ratty apprentice robes. “Er…yeah…we’ll be…fine…”

“Take care of your charges, Alistair,” Duncan said. “We cannot afford to lose a single man before the battle begins.”

 Alistair nodded. “I will, Duncan.”

“Then may the Maker watch over your path,” Duncan said. “Stay strong, and come back quickly. I will see you when you return.”

          


	10. Join Us, Brothers and Sisters

At a different time in her life, the gates leading to the Korcari Wilds would have impressed Rowena.

They were massive, easily three times as large as the ones at Highever. A whole team of soldiers manned them, patrolling the ramparts on the lookout for wandering packs of darkspawn. A year earlier, and she would have been fascinated, asking a million questions about how they were managed and what it took to protect him.

Things were different now. There was no more time to think about that. All that was on her mind now was the fact that somewhere beyond those gates, her brother was waiting for her.

_Fergus, how can I possibly tell you what I have to say? Unless you’re already—_

She couldn’t let herself think of that. Fergus needed to be alive. There was absolutely no other way.

There was a crash from behind her that drew away her attention. “Maker’s breath, watch where you’re going, idiot!” Daveth hissed at Jory, who had just bumped into him. “You’re like a bronto in heat!”

“Well, maybe if you’d gone a bit faster, I wouldn’t have run into you!” Jory shot back. “You’re like a bronto in cold!”

Daveth stared at him. “How stupid are you, actually? Be honest, now.”

“Oh, when are you two crazy kids just gonna get married already?” Alistair said from up ahead. “Really, it’s heart-warming.”

Jory frowned. “Haven’t I told you about my fair Helena? I could have sworn that you knew I already had a wife.”

Alistair smiled weakly. “Jory, that was a jo—actually, never mind. Just stop talking to each other, all right?” The two men backed away from each other, scowling. “Thank you.” Alistair turned around and approached the soldier manning the gate, who was busy chatting to a woman to his right.

“I’m just not sure if I should just lance it or what—er, halt!” the man said quickly, catching sight of Alistair. “State your business.”

“Alistair, of the Grey Wardens,” he said. “I have orders to enter the Wilds from the Warden Commander.”

“Maker, are all you Wardens _trying_ to get yourselves killed?” the soldier asked. “You’ve got to be the fifteenth Warden I’ve let out of this camp today!”

“Well, you know, duty calls,” Alistair said. There was a moment’s pause. “So, are you going to open it?”

“Huh? Oh, right.” The man took a step back and motioned to the soldiers on the walls. With a giant groan, the gates swung open, revealing the vast stretch of woods beyond. Rowena felt Cormac draw instinctively closer to her; she couldn’t blame him. From up close, there was something very off about the Wilds. The trees looked like blackened, gnarled fingers crawling out from the earth, and there was something about the way the branches twitched in the breeze that made her feel unwelcome. On top of all that, an eerie mist was drifting through the forest, so thick that she could barely see twenty feet in.

“Trust me, it doesn’t get much better,” Alistair sighed. “All right, men, fall out!”

The group began to file past the gate soldiers; Eruestan paused as he passed the man who had sent them through. “Er…I’m sorry to intrude,” he said, scratching his ear. “But I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying…and personally I would wait until the battle’s over to lance anything. What with infections and all.”

  “What the—”

“Come on, Eruestan,” Rowena sighed, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him forward. The guard frowned at them and rubbed his backside as they walked through the gates. Rowena looked up to see the size of the walls; they were at least twenty feet thick, a fact that made her feel all the more vulnerable as they left the camp. After Cormac trotted out on the other side, the gates rumbled closed again, cutting off the noise of camp and bathing the area in silence.

The Wilds were even more disturbing on this side of the wall. Not only did the fog obscure light, she bizarrely felt as though it were reaching out to her, beckoning her to join the wastelands. Off in the distance, she could hear faint howls from a creature she couldn’t identify.

“Have to love the Wilds at this time of year,” Alistair said, trying to joke. No one laughed. He shrugged and pulled out a piece of parchment, studying it in the little light that pierced through the mists. “Hmm…so, this map says we should continue along this path until we reach a Tevinter statue, then curl around this lake until we hit the ruins we’re looking for.”

“All while trying to avoid any darkspawn,” Jory finished.

“Grey Wardens aren’t really in the darkspawn-avoiding business,” Alistair said, folding the map and beginning to make his way down the path. “Besides, you all need to collect your blood samples before we get back, so you’ve got to fight them at some point.”

“Yeah, about that,” Daveth said. “When you say that, you mean finding some darkspawn corpses, right? We don’t actually have to kill them, do we?”

Alistair thought about that for a moment. “Well, I guess Duncan would never really know _where_ the blood came from…but that’s not really the point of this activity. I mean, we already have enough darkspawn blood to create our own Archdemon at this point. What Duncan really wants, though, is for all of you to try your hand at fighting them.”

Rowena scoffed in spite of herself. “So this is basically a training exercise?”

He looked back and smiled. “It’s a little more than that. Think of it as a way to get your feet wet. Trust me, you don’t want your first time seeing darkspawn to be on the battlefield.”

Eruestan took a sharp breath next to her. “Are they that bad?”

Alistair hesitated. “Yes,” he said finally. “They really are.” The group lapsed into silence at this, suddenly aware of how foreboding the forest had become. Suddenly Rowena could see strange beasts tumbling out of the woods at her, their eyes wild like the man in the infirmary. Furrowing her brow, she put a hand on her sword and kept following Alistair.

The farther in they went, the more savage everything became. After a while, the path all but disappeared, leaving only the forest ground in its stead. Giant roots lay underfoot now, causing all of them to trip in the relative darkness. Jory, however, seemed to be suffering more than anyone else.

“Andraste’s bloody ass, can you not?” Daveth snapped as the knight tripped into him for the third time in five minutes.

“This—bloody—forest—needs—bloody—pavement!” Jory huffed, picking himself back up. “Of all the bleeding places in Ferelden…”

He was cut off by a howl somewhere nearby.

“Maker, I hate this place,” Daveth moaned, wiping his forehead. Rowena looked over at him and frowned. She wasn’t much impressed by him or Jory; Daveth was too shifty, while Jory was just too dumb. It made her wonder what Duncan had possibly found in either of them. “You lot don’t know half of what’s lurking in here…”

“Neither do you, city rat,” Jory scoffed. “I bet you haven’t seen a tree your entire life.”

“Well, I’m from here, aren’t I?” Daveth shot back. “I only came to Denerim once I was old enough to escape my pa. My gran raised me on stories of what lives in the Wilds. Wolves, bears, Wilders, evil witches…”

“Witches?” Jory asked, his tone suddenly a lot less certain.

“Yeah, witches!” Daveth said. The man’s face had gone a little white, as if the witches themselves could hear him. “The Wilds is famous for them. 50 of them, flying around and swarming on men to seduce and devour!

Jory looked extremely uncomfortable. “No one ever told me about any witches…”

“Oy, Daveth, knock it off, you’re scaring him,” Alistair said. “And focus, all of you! There aren’t any witches out here to worry about, we’ve got— _Sweet Maker_.”

The group stopped in its tracks, stunned by what lay in front of them. Hanging from a branch above were the bodies of five soldiers, all with their eyes gouged out.

For a moment no one said anything, all staring aghast at the men swaying gently in the breeze. Rowena suddenly remembered an old story her mother had told her about the Orlesian Occupation, about how her raider cousins had been left to dangle at the gallows as an example to other pirates on the Waking Sea.

“What happened here?” Jory whispered, face totally white.

“Well, clearly this is just a game of jump-rope gone horribly wrong,” Daveth snapped. “Maker, you’re the stupidest man I’ve ever—”

“Shut up,” Alistair said sharply. Daveth and Jory both stopped, looking over at him. That was when Rowena heard it: a soft groaning coming from somewhere nearby. Alistair drew his sword, his eyes scanning the trees around them. Warily, he stepped forward into the mists, bursting into a low-lying bush nearby. A severely wounded man was lying prostrate on the ground, clutching at his leg.

“Who’s…there…” he wheezed. “Need…help…”

“Hey, hey, we’re here,” Alistair said immediately, stooping down. “What happened?”

The man coughed, spraying up small flecks of blood. “Darkspawn…,” he said. “They swarmed my party…I managed to hide after I was injured…please, you have to help me!”

 Alistair looked back at the rest of the group, pained. “I don’t know if we have time to carry him back…”

“We can’t just leave him here!” Rowena cried. He was a young man, with curly russet-brown hair. If she squinted, he almost looked like her brother.  

 “There’s only one thing to do, then, isn’t there?” Daveth said. He pulled out a dagger and took a step forward.

 “Whoa!” Alistair said, raising his hand in defense. “There’s no need for that!”

“If we don’t do it now, he’ll only have a worse death later,” Daveth said. “Put the man out of his misery.”

“No!” Rowena said, stepping in front of the soldier. Nothing was going to happen to the man, just like nothing would happen to Fergus. Daveth stared at her with his blade drawn for a moment, clearly unsure how to proceed. Before anything could happen, however, a loud ripping sound made them both jump. Everyone turned around to see Eruestan step forward, carrying a strip of fabric torn from his robes.

“They were torn anyways,” he muttered, bending over the soldier. He quickly made a makeshift bandage around the most severe wound on the man’s leg, tying it tightly as he ignored the man’s whimpers of pain. He then closed his eyes, flared his nostrils, and summoned a faint blue light that sealed the more minor cuts on his torso and face. The man instantly stopped panting and sat up in shock.

“I won’t be able to heal your leg, but this should help you enough to get back to camp,” Eruestan said apologetically.

“Thank you,” the man stammered, slowly climbing to his feet. “Thank you so much!”

“How many men were in your party?” Alistair asked. “How were you attacked?”

He shook his head. “It was so fast, I don’t know. It was like they came up out of the ground. There were twenty of us and about forty of them, I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know what happened…to everyone…” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the men hanging from the tree. “Oh, Maker…Wilmond…Loran…forgive me, I…I have to get away from here!”

Alistair sighed as the man ran off. “Oh, Duncan is really not going to like this…”

“Duncan?” Daveth hissed. “ _Duncan_? Who gives a rat’s ass about what _Duncan_ thinks! _I_ don’t like this! An entire patrol killed by darkspawn?”

“Calm down, Daveth,” Alistair said. “So long as we’re careful, we’ll be fine.”

“Oh, and you think these men weren’t careful?” Daveth replied, gesturing to the corpses above. “A whole bleeding army of darkspawn in the forest, and they were just waltzing about, singing songs and flashing ‘come kill me’ signs?”

“Of course not,” Alistair said, raising an eyebrow. “First off, darkspawn can’t read, so the signs would have been useless. In any case, I’m sure these men weren’t fully aware of their surroundings.”

“And we will be?” Jory asked slowly, his eyes glued to the corpses swaying in the wind. “Look, I’m not a coward, but sending the five of us out here alone isn’t safe. We need to head back before things get worse.”

“That’s the point, though, isn’t it?” Eruestan said quietly. Everyone turned to look at him. “Things are just going to get worse from here. Better face them now than wait for when it really matters later.”

“Right,” Rowena said, voice still a little uneven from earlier. “Besides, if it comes to it, we’re Grey Wardens, right? There’s nothing that we can’t fight our ways out of.”

“Well said, the both of you,” Alistair said firmly. “And if it’s any consolation, both of you, know that part of being a Grey Warden is having the ability to sense any darkspawn coming your way. Once we find them, I’ll know it before they’ll ever have the chance to surprise us—that’s why I’m here.”

“Yeah, that’s comforting, isn’t it, Jory?” Daveth said drily. “Even if we die, we’ll have been warned about it beforehand.”

“I suppose that is a bit comforting, really,” Jory said slowly. “Still, though…” He pulled out his sword, a giant steel claymore he kept strapped to his back. “Doesn’t hurt to be on the safe side…”

 “Excellent idea, weapons out, everyone,” Alistair announced. Rowena pulled out her sword and grabbed her shield. Daveth drew out twin daggers and shot her an angry look. She responded with a glare of her own and pushed ahead – she would remember to watch out for him in the future. Beside her, Eruestan glanced at the drawn weapons, looked at his bare hands, then shrugged and continued walking.

 “How are you faring?” she asked him, stepping over a particularly large root.

He shrugged. “Not quite as well as I was five minutes ago, but that’s what you’d expect, I guess. How about you?”

She shivered, thinking of the men hanging from the trees. “Same.” There was a loud crash behind them; they looked over to see Jory pick himself up from the ground once more. “What do you think of them?”

Eruestan hesitated. “Jory’s a bit…well, stupid, unfortunately. As for Daveth…” He grimaced. “I might not be sleeping with both eyes closed tonight, that’s all.”

Rowena laughed. “Great candidates for future brethren, huh?”

He shrugged. “So long as they fight well enough, I’m happy.” The mage shuddered. “Did you see what those things did to their eyes? Maker…”

“Yeah, well, time comes, I’m not waiting on those two for help,” Rowena said sharply. “I’ve got your back, though, if you’ve got mine.”

“Of course,” Eruestan said. He looked around at the mists surrounding them and shuddered. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

The group trudged on for the better part of two hours, walking mainly in silence. The mists seemed to put them all on edge. Even Jory and Daveth fell quiet, looking over their shoulders at every howl or snapping twig. Rowena couldn’t blame them; everywhere she looked, too, she seemed to see something leering out at her.

All of a sudden, Alistair gasped loudly and stopped in his tracks. Rowena almost crashed into him; she immediately jumped back and tensed her sword. There was a clattering of steel behind her as everyone else jumped to attention, searching wildly for the enemy.

“Sorry!” the knight said quickly. “It’s nothing! I just…well, look!”

Rowena followed his gaze and started as well. Looming over the trees was a giant, angry stone face.

Jory looked up and dropped his jaw open. “Is that a statue?” he asked in wonder.

Everyone else in the group turned to stare at him for a moment.

“That’s got to be the ruin we’re looking for,” Eruestan said finally. “It looks like the other statues back at the fortress, it has to be Tevinter.”

The group pushed through a cluster of trees and walked into a large clearing. A giant statue of an angry Tevinter archon shot up like a mountain in front of them, his face twisted in wrath as he looked down on them.

Alistair whistled. “You ever wonder if they were compensating for something?”

“So where do we go from here?” Rowena asked slowly, still staring at the rage engraved on the archon’s face. It made her feel tiny, as if the statue was about to squash her on the spot.

Alistair pulled out the map. “All right, it looks like if we travel east for a while we’ll—” His voice trailed off as he looked up sharply. Cormac began to growl and snap at something in the distance. “ _Everyone, get down_!” Alistair shouted.

At that moment, something whizzed past Rowena’s face. Spinning around, she took one look at what was charging down at them and stopped dead in her tracks.

Aldous had taught her about the darkspawn. They were evil, vile monsters, capable of killing anything they came across, even small children. But she had never really been afraid of them. Darkspawn had never been more real to her than goblins and trolls, and she had quickly forgotten about them as she pretended to fight Orlesians and pirates in the courtyard with Rory.

 What she was looking at now, however, was no goblin or troll.

It was as if someone had tried to make a recreate a man, but had gone mad before he could finish. The creature’s flesh was pale and mottled, with gaping sores and rotten bile spilling out of its mouth and eyes. Its bones seemed too big for its skin, giving it a leering grin and wide, popping eyes. They seemed to come in two sizes, one tall, one short, yet all wore the same brutally crude armor and bore vicious-looking weapons. Everything about them seemed horribly wrong and corrupted. It was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen.

A second arrow flew past her face, jolting her to action. Alistair was yelling something behind her; she didn’t stop to listen to him and ran forward with a vicious war cry. Cormac bounded in front of her, taking down one of the smaller archers. Lips pulled back in a snarl, she sliced the Cousland blade through the air and rammed it into the neck of the tallest darkspawn, a might beast wearing a full set of armor of spiked armor. To her surprise, the monster was merely staggered by the blow; frowning, she yanked out the blade and swung it once more at its head. Moving fast as sin, the darkspawn locked its sword with hers, catching her off guard and throwing her back. Quickly reorienting herself, she blocked his next blow with her shield and tried to press forward. The creature, however, was much stronger than she was, and with a clash of its sword was able to stagger her to her knees. It stooped down until she could smell its rotting breath, its face inches from hers. It roared, spraying her with spittle. Disgusted and horrified, she tried to free herself from its hold, pushing up with her shield. Before anything happened, however, there was a loud crash and the creature went flying.

“Not exactly one for listening to plans, are you?” Alistair grunted as he lunged forward and pierced the creature’s head.

She narrowed her eyes and jumped to her feet, turning to a shorter darkspawn running up to her. This one was slower, however, and she was able to lop off its head with one slash of her sword. “Not really, no,” she said, turning to another target.

There was a bellow to her side; she turned to see Jory cleave a darkspawn in half with his claymore. The knight had a nasty gash on his forehead and seemed to be on the verge of panic. A few yards over, Daveth was doing all he could from being torn to pieces by a smaller beast, who was moving much faster than he could manage. She moved forward to help him, her blade singing in the air. Before she reached him, though, a spike of ice shot through the air and embedded itself in the creature’s neck. Eruestan turned around and performed the same spell on another darkspawn charging from the back. In doing so, however, he didn’t see the tall monster bearing down behind him, blasting the elf out of the way with a roar. The beast reached back to stab him with his sword. Without hesitating, Rowena charged forward and knocked the darkspawn to the ground, piercing its head with her sword. “Thanks,” Eruestan gasped, picking himself up.

She nodded grimly. “Like I said, I’ve got your back.”

Alistair cut down the last beast and stood up, wiping his brow. Silence settled over the clearing again as the battle, the group panting heavily.

“Maferath’s bloody knickers,” Jory whispered, staring down at the darkspawn he had slain. “ _These_ are what we’re up against?”

“These are bloody demons, these are,” Daveth said a little manically, looking around wildly. “We can’t fight these.”

“They aren’t demons,” Eruestan said, surprisingly calm. “And we did fight them, didn’t we?”

“And barely made it out alive!” Daveth snapped. “Any more and they would have wiped us out!”

“Oh, man up!” Rowena shot back. “None of us died, did we? We’re Grey Wardens now, it’s our duty to stop these…things when no one else can.”

“Rowena and Eruestan are right,” Alistair said, wiping his sword. “I know it’s never easy to face your first darkspawn, but they are beatable. It’s like Duncan told me when I was a recruit – every time these things have popped out of the ground, the Grey Wardens have been able to send them back. We can do this – this isn’t impossible.”

Neither Jory nor Daveth looked very convinced. Rowena, however, smiled encouragingly at Alistair. The battle had set her blood pumping, and suddenly she felt much better. The darkspawn were horrible, but they had gone down fairly easily, and now she was less worried that Fergus had been struck down immediately. Then again, looking down at the slain beasts, she still had to admit that all the warnings back at the camp suddenly made sense.

Eruestan was peering at them as well, his lips curled back in disgust as he examined them. “So what’s the difference?” he asked. “Why are some taller than the others?”

Alistair shrugged. “I’m not quite sure why they’re different, but there are four kinds of darkspawn. The smaller ones are called genlocks and the larger ones hurlocks. They’re all equally smart, but hurlocks are generally the ones calling the shots on the battlefield.”

“So go for the hurlocks first,” Rowena said firmly.

“Which is what you did, by the way,” he said. “I guess I should be mad that you didn’t follow orders, but at the same time not many can cross a hurlock alpha for the first time and live.” He gave her a crooked grin, and to her surprise she found that she was blushing. It had been a while since she’d had a happy thought, and now all she could think about was how handsome the knight really was. _Andraste’s ass, pull yourself together, Cousland_ , she thought harshly. _There are way more important things going on._

Jory had fallen to his knees, clutching his head in his hands. Blood was pouring through his fingers from his wound. “This is hopeless,” he croaked. “We’re all going to die.”

“Oh, come on, Jory, don’t think like that,” Eruestan said soothingly. “Here, let me look at your forehead.” After examining the gash, the elf closed his eyes and placed his hand over the wound. A blue light shone from his palm and sealed the wound, leaving a faint scar. “There, that’s better, right?” Shakily, Jory nodded and climbed back to his feet. Wiping his hands, Eruestan turned back around to Alistair. “All right, what do we do from here?”

Alistair rustled around in his pouch. “Well, first things first, take these.” He pulled out four small glass vials and handed them to each recruit. “Each of you should fill these vials with the blood of a different darkspawn. We’ll need it for your Joining later tonight.” Rowena stooped down to get a closer look at the hurlock she had slain. Now she could fully absorb how grotesque the darkspawn truly were. Its skin was a mottled, diseased brown that was shriveled enough to reveal black, twisted teeth and a forked tongue. Its blood was black, too, and left a strange, acidy feeling on her skin as she filled her vial. Cormac sniffed the vial and turned his nose up in disdain, trotting away to stand guard. Behind her, she could hear Jory retch as he extracted his blood from a genlock. Daveth merely seemed angry as he took his, shoving the vial into an open wound with a scowl. Eruestan, however, seemed calm, collected his sample from a pool of blood around the hurlock he had impaled with his magic.

“It looks like tar,” he said curiously, walking back towards them.

“If only it were,” Alistair said. “Is that everyone, then?” The recruits flashed their bottles. “All right, hold onto those, and let’s get moving. It’s getting late – we don’t want to run out of time.”

The group began to trek around the lake, swatting at mosquitos and checking over their shoulders every time a twig snapped in the forest. Rowena and Cormac soon fell in line with Eruestan, who seemed to be lost in thought.

“Those things are pretty awful, huh?” she murmured, swatting away something flying near her face.

 He looked over and nodded. “Way worse than I was expecting.”

“Really?” she asked, frowning. “You don’t seem to be very bothered by them, though.”

The mage shrugged. “I just think I’m better prepared for them, is all,” he confessed. “I used to read a lot about the Blights when I was younger, and almost every book included a detailed description of the darkspawn. That being said, theory is a lot different from practice…” He shuddered and shook his head. “You seem fine, too, though.”

She shrugged. “Honestly, I was expecting worse. I mean, they weren’t _that_ hard to kill…”

“Yeah, when there were eight of them,” Eruestan said quietly. “Rowena, we’re talking about up to millions of darkspawn here. It’s always taken armies from countries all over Thedas to defeat the Blights…” He bit his lip. “I just…I just don’t know if we have the manpower we need to stop them here.”

“Well, don’t tell those two,” she said, nodding at Jory and Daveth, both of whom seemed absorbed in their thoughts. “They’re ready to desert as it is.”

“They won’t, though,” Alistair said, sidling up behind them. They both started and blushed, embarrassed to have been overheard. “They can’t, really.”

“What makes you say that?” Eruestan asked.

“They’re both here under tight circumstances,” the knight replied. “Daveth’s a wanted man back in Denerim. If he leaves the order now, he’ll be hanged wherever he tries to go. As for Jory, his honor’s on the line. If he retreats before the battle even begins, he’ll never be taken seriously as a knight ever again.”

 “Poor guys,” Eruestan said softly.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Alistair said. “Duncan wouldn’t have recruited them if he didn’t think they could fight, and by the time the battle comes we’ll all be in for it, not just them.” He smacked at a fly on his neck and sighed. “Maker, I hate this place…”

“Well, don’t worry – in one day’s time, you’ll be out of the Wilds and fighting to the death against a horde of vicious darkspawn,” Rowena teased.

 "I’d take a horde of darkspawn over a swarm of mosquitos any day,” he said. “But come on, let’s get moving.”

Eruestan frowned slightly as he pulled ahead. “Is it just me, or does he look awfully familiar?”

Rowena furrowed her eyebrows as he watched him jog away. “Now that you mention it, yeah, he does…I don’t know to who, though.”

The mage shook his head. “Must have one of those faces, I guess.”

The group proceeded to walk on for roughly another two hours, largely in silence. Rowena tried to ignore the pangs of hunger in her stomach; breakfast seemed ages ago. Fortunately, the shock from earlier seemed to have effectively shut both Jory and Daveth up. The added silence allowed her mind to wander. Her thoughts instantly went to Fergus. The darkspawn may have been less of a threat than she had feared, but Eruestan’s words gave her reason to pause. How long could anyone last out here, far from help and supplies?

_Please let him be all right, my Lady Andraste. Please watch over Fergus until he’s safe in Highever. Please, please, please…_

Her prayers were cut off from a yell up ahead. “We’re here!” Alistair called, pointing at a ruined tower up ahead. “Hurry up!”

The group ran ahead, stopping atop a hill that looked down on the outpost. Although she was far from an expert on Tevinter architecture, Rowena could tell that the Imperium had not constructed this building. For one reason, the structure was neither ridiculously large nor outlandishly decorated; for another, it was in a far greater state of decay than any Tevinter building she had seen up to that point. Whole sections of wall were missing on the second floor, and a sea of vines had wrapped around the entire building. It was clear that no one had been there in a very long time.

Alistair looked down at the map once more. “Hm…Duncan marked here that the cache should be on the ground floor of that tower…sounds easy enough!”

The moment he said that, the tree he was standing next to burst into flames.

For a second, Rowena had no idea what was happening. Then, someone grabbed her arm and dragged her behind a rock. “What the hell’s going on?” Eruestan shouted to Alistair, who was crouching down beside him.

The knight peered over the boulder and swore loudly. “An emissary!” The rest of the group stared blankly at him. “Darkspawn mages!”

Daveth looked horrified. “They can do _magic_?”

Ignoring him, Rowena glimpsed over the boulder to see a group of roughly six darkspawn surrounding one wearing an elaborate headdress. She swiftly realized that it was casting a spell; ducking back beneath the boulder, she barely avoided being incinerated by another fireball.

“What do we do?” she yelled over the roaring.

Eruestan turned to Alistair. “How far did you get with your Templar training?”

The knight grimaced. “Far enough.”

The elf peered back over the boulder. “All right, then, you head down to take that…thing out. Take Rowena with you – the three of us will try to keep the other ones busy.”

Alistair nodded and, waiting for the next blast, jumped over the boulder and began running down to the darkspawn. “Stay here, boy,” Rowena murmured to Cormac, who whined but sat down obediently. Taking a deep breath, she jumped out as well and began racing down the hill, sword drawn. Alistair was only a few paces in front of her, and within a few steps she had caught up to him. The emissary’s escort was directly in front of them, all with weapons brandished. Suddenly, there was a flash from behind, and before either Alistair or Rowena knew what was happening a giant fire ball flew over their heads and crashed into the darkspawn, sending them sprawling. _Well done, Eruestan,_ Rowena thought wildly as she faced the emissary. It was one of the shorter gen-thingies, and the headdress it was wearing appeared to be made of human bones. Grimacing in disgust, she began to charge at it…and promptly found herself unable to move at all.

Glancing down at her body, she saw that a faint grey aura was surrounding her, completing paralyzing her body. She was still able to breathe; however, she was unable to make any sound. Willing every muscle in her body to move, she looked up to see the darkspawn gleaming maliciously at her, a grey light emanating from its outstretched palm. She glanced over at Alistair and blinked in surprise. While the grey aura was circling around him, too, it was nowhere near as thick as hers, and the effect showed. Instead of being frozen stiff, Alistair was able to move slowly, as if suspended in water. The more he moved, in fact, the less effect the spell seemed to have, until suddenly he was running at full speed. The darkspawn growled and moved to wave its hand again. Before anything could happen, however, Alistair’s sword sliced through the air and cut the monster in two.

Instantly the spell trapping Rowena dissipated. Caught off guard, she collapsed to her knees and immediately leapt to her feet.

“Sorry about that!” Alistair said, helping her up. Behind them, the rest of the recruits bounded down the hill.

“It’s all right,” she said hastily, picking up her sword. “Nice trick, by the way. Templar training?”

He grimaced. “Hey, institutionalized brainwashing has to be good for something, right?” They glanced up at the ruins above them as the others caught up. The building was in even worse shape from that close up. It was amazing it had ever been used at all.

“I hate this place,” Daveth said dully. “I hate it so much.”

“Well, we won’t be here for much longer,” Eruestan said. “Where’s the way in?”

Alistair pulled out the map. “Hm…there should be a door around the other side…let’s go see.”

The Wardens moved around the perimeter of the ruins, careful to keep themselves free of the black mud that surrounded it. On the other side, light trickled faintly into a doorway that had long been kicked in, revealing an interior that was completely covered in vines and weeds.

“Looks like someone hasn’t been doing the housecleaning,” Alistair said.

They entered cautiously, peering in the darkness for any potential enemies. It was clear that the outpost had been abandoned quickly. Furniture lay helter-skelter around the room, plates and cups still set on the table. Most of the room, however, had long been obscured by weeds and grass.

“The chest should be in here somewhere,” Alistair murmured. “Duncan said it was enchanted – Eruestan, would you be able to detect it with magic?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t learned that sort of magic yet. It can’t be that hard to find, though.”

“It shall be if you continue to search for it here,” a strange voice said behind them. Rowena spun around and blinked in shock. Standing in the doorway was a young woman, roughly around Rowena’s age. That was where the similarities ended, however. The woman was simply the wildest looking person she had ever seen. Her clothes, clearly homespun, were torn and covered in bizarre charms made from both wood and bone. Her hair looked like raven feathers, and was kept off her neck by a strange net of string and stone. What was most unsettling about her, however, were her eyes: bright yellow and piercing.

“Who are you?” Alistair asked sharply. “What are you doing here?”

“‘Tis I who should be asking the same of you,” the woman replied icily. “I have watched your progress through my Wilds for quite some time now, and I cannot figure out what would bring you to this ruined memory in the middle of a vast horde of darkspawn.”

“Yeah, me either,” Jory muttered.

Daveth kicked his shin. “Shut up!” he hissed. “Can’t you tell she’s a Witch of the Wilds?!”

The woman laughed, a throaty chuckle that reminded Rowena of a hawk. “A ‘Witch of the Wilds’, is it? Such simple legends for such simple men…”

“Calm down, Daveth,” Alistair said, eyeing her. “She’s just Chasind, that’s all – keep an eye out for an ambush.”

“Ah, yes, very good,” she said. “Be careful, lest wild savages swoop down upon you!”

 “Yes,” Alistair replied. “Swooping is…bad…”

“How eloquent,” she drawled. “However, your friend was not too far off. I am indeed a mage. You, there – I believe it was said that you can do magic, too. Surely you are more intelligent than these cretins?”

Eruestan paled as she looked at him. “Er…I…I…”

The woman sighed and turned to Rowena. “It seems you are my last hope. Are you capable of telling me your purpose within these woods?”

“We're looking for documents left here many years ago,” Rowena said, not breaking eye contact with the woman. “I suppose you know where they are?”

She laughed again. “I like you! You’re straightforward. What is your name?”

“Rowena,” she said; there was a beat, then she continued awkwardly, “pleased to meet you.”

This took the woman by surprise. “I…am pleased to meet you as well, Rowena. You may call me Morrigan.”

“Great, I’m sure we’ll all be fast friends,” Alistair grunted. “Now, do you know where we can find these papers?”

“Such manners,” Morrigan said coldly. “As for your papers, I can assure you that they are no longer here.”

“No longer here?” Alistair said in surprise. “How? The chest that held them was enchanted!”

“Not very well, in my opinion,” she replied. “The enchantments wore off decades ago. Little wonder this post was abandoned, with mages of such high caliber…”

The knight’s jaw fell open. “Are you saying… _you_ stole them? Why you’re nothing but a…a…” He struggled for a moment with his words. “A sneaky…witch thief!”

“It ‘twas not _me_ who took them!” Morrigan replied angrily. “‘Twas my mother – and she did not steal them! This post has been empty for hundreds of years, you have no right to lay claim to it!”

“The bloody hell I don’t!” Alistair sputtered. “Those papers belong to the Grey Wardens, I demand you release them at once!”

 She raised her chin. “I care not who you are, your name means nothing here. I could not give you what you desire, anyhow. My mother holds what you seek.”

“Why you little—”

“Alistair, stop,” Rowena said, stepping in front of him. She turned back to Morrigan. “Would you be able to bring us to your mother?”

“Now that is a sensible request,” she said, eyeing her. “How lucky your fellows are to have a woman traveling with them.”

“You want us to _follow_ her?” Daveth asked in horror. “She’s a witch! She’ll hang us up by our heels and use our blood to cavort with demons!”

 “Don’t be silly,” Alistair said, still not taking his eyes off of Morrigan. “I’m sure our blood would be used for culinary purposes only.”

 “Oh, come on, you lot,” Rowena said. “The papers aren’t here, it’s obvious, so either we stay here and twiddle our thumbs or we go to the one place we know they might be!”

Alistair frowned. “All right…you have a point…”

“There we have it, sensible conversation!” Morrigan said. She turned around and walked out of the outpost. “Follow me, then, and keep up. There are many things in these Wilds we would do best to avoid.”

Rowena walked out of the building and fell into line with Alistair. “So, do you really trust her?” he whispered as they followed the witch, who had somehow already gotten quite far ahead of them.

“Of course not, do I look daft to you?” Rowena whispered back. “But she’s our only option at this point – unless you want to go back to Duncan empty-handed?”

“Fair enough,” Alistair admitted. “Still, though, I’d feel a lot better about this if she weren’t a mage.”

Rowena frowned. “Since when are Templars afraid of witches?”

“I’m not a Templar,” he said gruffly. “Besides, I have a feeling her magic is stronger than a typical mage’s. If she was able to destroy those enchantments…”

“That may have been easier than you think,” Eruestan said quietly beside them. “Given how old they were, and how run-down that outpost was, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the runes managed to erode over time. I doubt the spells holding it in place were anything near strong enough to make them last for centuries. Still, though, if she is a hedge mage, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has spells I’ve never even heard of. Living outside the Chantry gives people plenty of opportunities to experiment – we should definitely be careful…”

“Right, like we weren’t before,” Rowena said drily.

Alistair grimaced. “Let’s just keep moving. Hopefully this will only prove to be a minor trap with minimal fighting and bloodshed.”

Within a few minutes, Morrigan had led them back into the trees. There was no path here – even Rowena found herself stumbling over roots and branches. Amazingly, Morrigan seemed to have no trouble making her way through the woods. In fact, it was almost as if she were taking a stroll down a paved street.

Soon, the trees began to thin out again, until suddenly they found themselves atop another small hill looking down on a clearing. Near the middle next to a small creek lay a rather dilapidated hut that seemed to defy the laws of nature simply by remaining upright.

“Home sweet home, huh?” Alistair asked sarcastically.

Morrigan ignored him and began walking down the hill. “Mother,” she called, “we have visitors!”

Rowena followed warily, waiting for a trap to spring. Out of nowhere, the door to the hut sprung open, and she almost raised her sword. She then relaxed; the only person within the building was a tiny old woman.

“Well, well, well,” the crone croaked as they drew near. “Company, at a time like this? And here I haven’t even done the washing…”

Surprisingly, Morrigan looked almost as uncomfortable as the others did. “Mother, these people claim you have taken their—”

“Hush, my dear, all in good time, all in good time…let me get to know my guests first…” She cast a wizened glance over the group, one eye wild as she went from face to face. From behind her, Rowena could hear Daveth whimper. “Hmmm…yes, yes, all as I expected…such important people, too, my, my…well, that is, except for—but then I suppose I can’t spoil the fun, can I?” Her eyes focused on Rowena, remaining on her for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Cormac began to growl gently – Rowena nudged him with her leg, not wanting to provoke either of the witches.

“Such fearsome beasts, aren’t they?” the woman whispered, peering at him. “I had one once, long ago…I bet there’s nothing he’d like better than to rip my throat out and wring me like a doll!” She threw her head back and cackled, a harsh grating sound that echoed horribly through the woods. With a flash, her laughter stopped, and she stared expressionlessly at Rowena. “Hmm…yes, just as I thought…red hair, there’s a twist…k-Keep that sword sharp, girl, you’ll need it. What’s your name?”

“Rowena,” she said, unnerved. “Rowena Cousland.”

The witch stared at her for a long moment, then gave her a wide, toothless grin. “I see…oh, yes, yes, I see very clearly now…Oh, that’s delicious…You, then, my child, may call me Flemeth.”

Rowena felt her blood freeze. That was a name every Cousland knew well, regardless of how much attention they paid to their lessons. Before she could say anything, however, the witch had already moved on.

“You there, mage – what is your name?”

Eruestan seemed to have learned his lesson from Morrigan. “Eruestan Surana,” he said quickly. “How do you do?”

“Politeness, among savages, ghouls, and murderers,” she said. “A rare thing this far south, unlike the unblinking eyes deep in the Wilds at night that won’t go away, even after you scream…”

Eruestan didn’t seem to know what to say. “Well…that’s…not good…”

Again, she ignored him, looking directly into his eyes instead. “Yes, him, too, good, good—then perhaps there’s still ho—well, don’t get ahead of yourself…hmmm…” She trailed off and looked at the rest of the group. Jory and Daveth, both of whom looked terrified out of their skins, were passed over as her gaze settled down on Alistair. There was a moment’s pause as she stared hard at him. Then she sniffed and said, “Hm. I thought you’d be taller.”

“I don’t…wait a minute, what?” Alistair cried. “We aren’t here to chat! We’re after very important Grey Warden documents that you supposedly have!”

“And here they are,” she said calmly, pulling out a packet of old parchment. “Your seal wore off years ago, and I decided to protect them here. I am glad I am able to give them to you now.”

“Oh! Er…thank you!” Alistair said, taking the papers from her.

“Mother, you’re just going to… _give_ them what they want?” Morrigan asked in shock. “After they invaded our Wilds, attracting darkspawn from every corner of the forest?”

“Yes, my dear, I am,” Flemeth said. “Dark times are approaching – darker than anyone can predict, and the only people out there who can help us are the Grey Wardens. I can only bow to what destiny dictates.”

Alistair bit his lip. “Could you maybe let us know exactly what that destiny dictates? Because that’d be really helpf—no? Ok, I understand.”

Flemeth finished glaring at him and turned back to her daughter. “I do believe our visit has ended. Morrigan, be a dear and show our guests the way back to their outpost. I would hate for them to get lost tonight…”

“Promises, promises,” Morrigan muttered. “Well, come along, then.”

“Oh! Um…thank you!” Eruestan called back as Morrigan began leading them back up the hill. His voice trailed off as Flemeth stared him down from the hut’s doorway, face totally expressionless.

“Ok, she’s bloody terrifying,” he muttered, catching up to Rowena. “Hey, what’s the matter with you? You’re as pale as Daveth and Jory.”

“Hm? Oh, it’s nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Hey, how common a name is ‘Flemeth’? Is it more popular down south or something?”

 He shrugged. “I spent the past 14 years locked in a tower. I’m not exactly an expert on name popularity.”

“Fair enough,” she sighed. The hair on the back of her neck was still standing up; the world was starting to feel a bit surreal.

Within a few minutes, they were back at the ruined outpost. “Here you are, back from whence you came,” Morrigan said. “Do try to not get ripped to pieces on your way back.”

“Trust us, that’s not exactly high on our list…hang on, where’d she go?” Alistair asked quickly, spinning around. Morrigan was nowhere to be seen.

“Nope,” Daveth said, pushing ahead. “I have been here too long, I don’t care anymore, we are _leaving_. Let’s go.”

The trek back to camp was quiet, free of darkspawn or any other adversary. The group didn’t speak, either, too shaken by what they had seen. By the time they reached the gates of Ostagar, night had already fallen.

“I’ve never been so happy to see a place before in my life,” Daveth said, running up ahead.

“Hail, Grey Wardens!”  a soldier on the wall shouted. “Commander Duncan asked me to send you to the old temple of Dumat upon your return.”

Alistair nodded. “Thank you, ser.”

“The temple of Dumat?” Jory whispered as they walked back through the gates. “Why are we going there?”

Alistair looked straight ahead. “I…I think Duncan’s planning on starting the Joining ceremony as soon as possible.”

 Jory stopped in the middle of the path. “He’s…he’s doing it _now_? We just got back!”

“Time waits for no man,” Alistair said, still looking ahead, “especially if he’s a Grey Warden.”

“Oh, come on, Jory,” Rowena said, slightly irritated at his attitude. “We’re going to have to do it anyways – let’s just get this over with.”

Alistair led them through the camp. A relative calm had fallen over the fortress, the night lit gently by large bonfires scattered among the tents. He eventually led them between two giant statues of a grim-looking Tevinter god. Unga, the dwarf from earlier, was standing in their way.

“Ugh, finally,” she said, uncrossing her arms. “You there, Red, hand over the mutt.”

Rowena frowned as Cormac immediately began to growl. “What? Why?”

“Hey, princess, don’t ask questions, ok?” Unga snapped. “It’s Duncan’s orders.”

“He’ll be fine,” Alistair said soothingly. “We just can’t have anyone but Wardens and the recruits at the ceremony.”

“I…okay…,” she said reluctantly as Unga tied him to the nearest tree. “I’ll be back soon, boy!” Cormac bayed mournfully and then settled down at the base of the tree, not taking his eyes off her as she entered the enclosure.

Turning around, Rowena looked ahead and gulped. They were in the ruins of a large temple, the moonlight pouring in through a hole in the ceiling. Roughly ten men and women stood in a semi-circle at the other end of the ruin, Duncan in the center. In front of them was a table bearing four goblets. Alistair and Unga quickly ran ahead, taking their places at opposite ends of the line. Rowena glanced over nervously at her fellow recruits. Jory’s eyes looked as if they were to burst from his head, while Daveth seemed incredibly angry. Eruestan caught her eye and smiled nervously back, his body shivering slightly.

“Step forward,” Duncan commanded. Catching her breath, Rowena began to slowly approach him with the others. After she had walked forward about ten paces, he held out his hand. Stopping where she stood, she heard Jory and Daveth collide into each other behind her.

There was a moment’s silence as the two men collected themselves – Rowena noticed several members of the Order exchange glances with each other, while Unga gave a rather loud sigh. Then Duncan cleared his throat and began to speak.

“It was during the First Blight that the Grey Wardens were founded. Mankind had been pushed to the brink of annihilation, and all of Thedas was on the verge of collapse. Then, just as all hope was lost, an idea was presented to the Order, an idea that would be the key in our fight against the darkspawn: drinking their blood.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Jory interrupted, taking a step forward. “We have to drink the blood of those…those monsters?”

“Yes,” Duncan said. “As the first Wardens did before us, as we did before you. When combined with powerful magic, drinking the blood of a darkspawn gives us great powers in our fight against the horde. It gives us immunity to the Taint, heightens our senses and our strengths, and enables us to destroy the Archdemon.” Rowena felt her eyes drift to the goblets on the table before her. Oddly enough, she looked at them not with fear or repulsion, but rather an almost dull sense of acceptance. It was as if she had already known what was going to happen after she had collected the blood within the Wilds.

“Bring out your vials, please,” Duncan said. Rowena pulled hers out of her pouch; Eruestan and Daveth did the same, while Jory only did so after a long moment of hesitation. As they held out their vials, a Warden standing to Duncan’s left waved her hands, sending the bottles flying to where the Commander was standing. Muttering words no one could hear, Duncan proceeded to pour each vial into its own goblet. Having finished, he turned to Alistair and nodded. Clearing his throat, Alistair bowed his head and said, “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you.” The others wardens crossed their arms and bowed; Rowena felt a thrill race down her spine. Duncan then raised his head.

“Daveth, step forward.”

From the corner of her eye, Rowena saw Daveth walk forward defiantly and snatch at the goblet offered to him by Duncan.

“Daveth,” Duncan said, still holding the cup, “do you swear to pledge yourself totally to this order, severing all ties and doing whatever it takes to defeat the Blight?”

“Yes, yes, just give it here!” Daveth said angrily, yanking the cup away from Duncan. Without hesitation, he downed the cup in its entirety, throwing it to the side once he had finished. For a second, it looked as though he were going to gag. Then, he spat out in front of him and wiped his mouth. “There, that wasn’t too baaa _aaaaaaaaaagh_!”

Rowena’s eyes widened as Daveth fell to the ground, writhing in agony, blood pouring from his eyes and his mouth. Already the flesh on his face was blackening and decaying while he clawed at his throat, gargling and howling. Within seconds, he stopped thrashing, body completely given over to the Taint.

“Maker’s breath,” Jory squealed. Although she would never have said it out loud, Rowena couldn’t help but agree.

Duncan looked at him mournfully. “I am sorry, Daveth.” The other Wardens bowed their hands and carried him to the side of the temple.

The Commander looked up again. “Step forward, Jory.”

All eyes shifted to the knight, who looked completely terrified. “What?” he whispered, eyes wide. “I—no, I have a wife, I have a child…I…I can’t…”

All of the Wardens had gone deathly still. “There is no turning back now, Jory,” Duncan said gravely. “Once you know our secret, you must partake of the Joining.”

Jory shook his head, starting to back away. “No…no, you ask too much…too much! I can’t!”

Duncan looked mournfully at him for a moment, then stepped around the table. Rowena blinked; by then Duncan was already atop Jory. The knight screamed and tried to draw his blade. Duncan, however, was far too quick, and drove his own knife deep into Jory’s stomach. With a deep groan, Jory sank to the ground, dead.

“I am sorry, Jory,” Duncan said sadly, wiping his knife on the grass. Moving back to the table, he turned back to the remaining recruits. “Step forward, Eruestan.”

Rowena tore her horrified gaze from Jory’s body to look at the elf, who too seemed much paler than she had ever seen him. As he took a step forward, she happened to look down at his hand, which was shaking like a leaf. At this, she reacted almost on instinct. “No!”

Everyone in the temple turned at her and stared. “Rowena,” Eruestan whispered shakily, “I’m fine. I’m going to do it.”

“Not alone, you’re not,” she said, trying to be firm. She turned back to Duncan. “Eruestan and I arrived here together. We’ll join together as well.”

For a moment, Duncan said nothing, staring at her inscrutably. Finally, he nodded. “Then step forward as well, Rowena.”

The two glanced at each other. Eruestan tried to smile weakly at her. However, the gesture fell a little short, his face more of a grimace than anything else. She nodded and looked ahead, strangely calm. Even though she knew that death was possible, even probable, for some reason she wasn’t afraid.

_I haven’t told Fergus yet_ , she thought coolly. _I can’t die here._

She and Eruestan approached the table, each picking up their own goblets.

“Eruestan and Rowena,” Duncan said, “do you swear to pledge yourselves totally to this order, severing all ties and doing whatever it takes to defeat the Blight?”

“Yes,” they both said quietly, lifting their goblets. Rowena had only a second to peer down at the black sludge lying within before it was at her lips, falling down her throat. Instantly her stomach twisted. The blood was everything vile and filthy; it tasted like decay and death, and it burned her throat as it made its way to her stomach. Beside her, she could hear Eruestan coughing horribly…until suddenly she couldn’t hear a thing. Filling her ears instead was a loud ringing and a terrible whisper, one that seemed to drag her down into the earth. Then she went blind, her eyes filled with a light so bright she slipped out of consciousness, falling down, down into a pit that had no memory and no future…


	11. The Battle of Ostagar

_At first, there was only smoke._

_Then came the screams, loud and keening, echoing through the void. The smoke flared gold, green, white, black, twisting and dancing as it writhed in turmoil. Eruestan and Rowena stood side by side, their skin rotten, their eyes filled with blood. They were on fire – no, they_ were _fire, screaming and crying with anguish and pain under the clouds of smoke. Everywhere there was pain, pain from moving, pain from standing, pain from breathing, from thinking, from heartbeats. And then the smoke cleared._

_They were standing on a cliff, looking down on a sea of darkspawn that stretched back as far as the eye could see. Hurlocks, genlocks, horrifying creatures with horns sprouting from their heads… Then, there was a terrible roar, and a giant dragon fell from the sky. Pitch black, it circled overhead, spouting flames, before swooping down to hover over their heads. Venom dripped from fangs larger than either of them, sizzling as it hit the ground. Every part of its body was covered in sharp, jagged spikes, while white, empty eyes stared evilly down on them. Before either of them could move, the demon opened its mouth and released a stream of white-hot flame, engulfing them, burning them to ash…_

Eruestan and Rowena both sat up with a gasp. They were in a tent, lying next to each other on individual cots. The elf quickly grabbed at his chest, trying to pat out the flames. However, the fire that had been searing them was gone. He was no longer in his robes, as someone had dragged a rough tunic over his head instead. The tent suddenly started to spin; he clutched his head and rubbed his temples. He then glanced over at Rowena, who looked about as haggard as he felt.

“What happened?” she asked, rubbing her head. “I feel like I fell off the top of the fortress…”

“No, this feels ten times worse,” Eruestan said, wincing. All his joints ached terribly; trying to move sent flares of pain through his body. “I’m telling you, this is the last initiation I’m going through in my _life.”_ His stomach grumbled. He suddenly realized that he was hungrier than he’d even been before. “Maker, I’m starving!”

“I am, too,” Rowena said, turning to stand up. She suddenly started. “Maker’s breath! Eruestan, you’re ripped!”

At first he almost thought something on his body must have been torn in half. However, he then realized that she was actually referring to his arms. To his astonishment, he saw that she was right. His normally thin limbs were now bulging with muscles. His whole body, in fact, had been covered with a layer of muscle. He ran his hands over himself in awe; it was like looking at the body of a stranger. He looked up at Rowena in shock and then started as well. “Forget about me, look at you!”

Rowena’s arms looked like they could crush a man. She glanced down in surprise and flexed, her face lighting up in glee. “Ok, already a big fan of the whole Warden thing,” she said. “Maker – how long do you think we’ve been out?”

“22 hours and 47 minutes!” someone chirped from outside the tent. The flap rustled open and Alistair burst through, grinning broadly. “Welcome to the Order, Junior Warden Rowena and Junior Warden Eruestan! I’m really glad you didn’t die!”

The two smiled and stepped up from their cots. As Alistair said that, though, Eruestan felt a little uncomfortable. He suddenly remembered the looks on Jory and Daveth’s faces as they had died, the mix of terror and pain. “Looks like we were lucky, though,” he said, stretching his back.

Alistair nodded. “That happens a lot, apparently,” he said grimly. “Not many people can handle the Taint. That’s why we can’t tell you anything before the Joining – no one would sign up.”

“Well, there’s no point in looking back,” Rowena said, cracking her neck. “At least the two of us made it.”

“And don’t worry, the hard part is just starting,” Alistair said brightly. “Come on, let’s grab some food – both of you have to be starving.”

They left the tent and walked into the quarter reserved for the Grey Wardens. Two rabbits were roasting over the fire, dripping and sizzling with grease. Eruestan’s stomach immediately began to rumble as the smell of the cooked meat wafted over to both of them. Cormac was lying on the ground by the fire, looking anxiously at their tent. Once  he saw Rowena, however, he barked happily and ran up to her, licking at her hand.

“Don’t worry, we took good care of him,” Alistair said as Rowena smiled broadly and gave the dog a hug. “I tried to get him to exercise this morning, too, but he wouldn’t leave the tent.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Cormy, I didn’t mean to scare you!” she said, burying her face in the dog’s neck. The dog barked again and began licking her cheek; she laughed and looked back up at Alistair. “Thank you for looking after him,” she said. “It really means a lot.”

“Of course,” he said simply. The two smiled at each other for a few seconds; Eruestan grinned to himself, and then coughed while moving closer to the fire. “So…are we allowed to start eating?” he asked. “Or are we waiting for someone else?”

“Huh? Oh, right!” Alistair said, shaking his head and walking over to him. He pulled the two hares off the fire and handed one to each of them. “Yeah, these are both for you two – the others are down on the field already.”

“The fiel—oh, shite!” Rowena said, mouth already full of rabbit. “Oh, Maker, that’s hot, ouch – but shite! The battle’s tonight!”

Beside her, Eruestan set down his rabbit for a moment, suddenly feeling a little anxious. He had momentarily forgotten where they were and what they were meant to be doing, and now that it all was coming back to him he had less of an appetite.

“In two hours, actually,” Alistair said quietly as Rowena ripped off a leg from her rabbit and threw it to Cormac. “Provided the darkspawn attack when we expect them to.”

“Wait,” Rowena asked, sitting up. “Did my brother make it back to camp? He was supposed to be here by the battle, wasn’t he?”

Alistair hesitated, and Eruestan’s heart sank a little. “I don’t think he’s been sighted yet,” he said slowly. “But don’t worry! There are a lot of patrols that haven’t made it back yet, he might even have gone directly to the field.”

Rowena was staring directly into the flames. Eruestan could only imagine what she was thinking. Clearing his throat, he turned to Alistair and asked, “Has the main horde been sighted, then?”

The knight shook his head. “The scouts that did make it back were only able to get a rough estimate of the head of the horde. We’re in for a bit of a fight.”

“Good,” Rowena declared, wiping the grease from her chin. Eruestan looked over at her in shock, taken about by the intensity in her voice. “It’s about time we ended this.” Taking another large bite of rabbit, she swallowed and looked back at Alistair. “Are you taking us down there after we eat, then?”

He shook his head. “No – for some reason, Duncan wants me to take you to him after his war meeting with King Cailan is finished…which means we do have to hurry.” He walked over to the side and pulled open a chest. “Now, we still didn’t have time to get you proper Grey Warden armor, but we did manage to scrounge these up.” He threw a sack of clothes to Eruestan and brought Rowena over to where he was standing. “Proper mage robes for Eruestan, and a standard suit of armor for you.”

“Excellent!” Rowena gasped, pulling out a gauntlet. “Thank the Maker, I could hardly breathe in that training armor…”

Eruestan opened his bag and looked at the set of robes. They looked nicer than his apprentice robes, to be sure, and they were infinitely better that what he had on at that moment. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for his old clothes. He pulled out the robes out and began pulling them on. They were a bit large, something that could be a problem on the battlefield. All the same, his newly athletic body felt all the stranger to him in the robes, a hard interior now protected by a soft outer shell.

Rowena took a little longer to put her armor on, Alistair helping her get everything in place. Once everything was settled, she pulled out the Cousland shield and sword from the chest and attached them both to her back. “Are we ready, then?”

“Not quite,” Alistair said as Eruestan tied a belt around his robes. “First, you need these.” He pulled out two amulets and handed one to each of them. “These are given to every Grey Warden once they complete their Joining. They contain some of the darkspawn blood from last night.”

“Do they do anything?” Eruestan asked as he placed his over his head.

Alistair shrugged. “Not really. We tend to just use them to identify ourselves if anyone ever questions who we are. Now come on, let’s hurry. The Council meeting is bound to be finished soon.”

The three of them hurried through the camp, Cormac bounding beside them. The entire fortress was eerily quiet, filled with empty tents and quieting smoking fire pits. There was a faint beat somewhere in the distance, a bit like rocks falling to the ground. Bizarrely, there was a gentle whispering at the back of Eruestan’s mind as well, something he had never felt before. It was both sickening and seductive, a wave of grime pouring from his own mind. It was like something in the depths of his brain was calling to him, tugging him towards the Wilds. He shivered, either in anticipation or in fear. There was something terrible in the air, he could sense it.

The king’s tent was at the heart of the camp, a giant silk structure with gold poles and a full guard detail. As they approached, a very tall olive-skinned woman stepped forward to block their entrance. “Halt,” she commanded in a stern voice. “What brings you to His Majesty’s tent?”

Rowena blinked. “Ser Cauthrien?”

The woman frowned for a moment, then relaxed visibly. “Lady Rowena! What in Andraste’s name are you doing here?”

“I’m with the Grey Wardens now, ser,” Rowena replied. Eruestan could detect a faint tinge of pride in the way she said it. “Duncan wanted to see us after the war meeting.”

“I see,” the knight said. “I’m afraid I have strict orders from Teyrn Loghain not to let anyone in. You can wait here, though, until the meeting is over.”

“Thank you,” Rowena said. She opened her mouth to say more, but was cut off by a load shout from inside the tent.

“Absolutely not!” someone croaked from inside. “The mages have had far too much freedom as it is! I will not stand for this!”

“Are you mad, you old hag?” someone else snapped back. “Do you really think us mages are going to use this battle to try and free ourselves? Where would we go? The darkspawn are a threat to everyone, can’t you see that?”

“And what happens if one of your mages is possessed by a demon during the battle, Uldred?” the old woman replied. “Do you want to be fighting abominations on both sides of the field?”

“Do we really seem so weak to you? How dare you—”

“Enough!” King Cailan yelled. There was a loud thud, as if he had slammed his fist on a table. “Our mages will be strong enough to fight with Templar supervision. I won’t hear anything more on the subject!” There were a few grumblings that died out as the king cleared his throat. “All right, so here’s the final plan. The darkspawn will be attacking here…the Grey Wardens and I will hold them here with the bulk of my armies…while Loghain, you’ll charge them here once the signal is lit. We should be able to rout most of the horde, which will hopefully draw out the Archdemon. Then, Duncan, you and your men can kill the beast and end this before it really starts. Are there any questions?”

“Yes,” a deep voice that Eruestan recognized as that of Teyrn Loghain said. “Do you really think it wise to not have all the Grey Wardens on the front lines, Your Majesty?”

 “Of course,” the king said. “The mission at the tower is crucial for our plans – there’s no one else I’d trust with this task.”

“Besides, Your Grace, most of the Wardens _will_ be on the front lines,” Duncan said. “I myself will be with the king.”

“Fair enough,” the teyrn said. “However, without all of our Wardens on the field…”

“Three missing Wardens won’t make much of a difference,” Duncan said. “I appreciate your concern, Your Grace, but I have full confidence in my men’s capabilities. The Wardens present for the battle will be enough, if our plan works.”

“Of course,” Loghain said. His tone suggested that he thought otherwise.

“Then it’s settled!” the king said. “Let’s get to the field at once – we have no time to waste!” The tent flap was pulled aside, and King Cailan stepped out and stopped short. “Well, Duncan, your people are already here!” he said as Alistair, Rowena, and Eruestan bowed to him. “The Wardens are as eager as ever, it looks like!”

“You put too much faith in these Wardens, Cailan,” Loghain grumbled, following him. “It’s going to take a lot more than a fancy name to defeat the horde.”

Cailan frowned. “If I didn’t know better, it almost sounds like you want us to wait for the Orlesians to get here before we confront the horde.”

The teyrn scowled. “That joke was never funny, boy. What would your father say if he heard you talking like that?”

Eruestan was amazed that the king let someone talk to him like that. Cailan, however, merely frowned and shook his head. “Well, it’s either Orlais or the Order, Loghain,” he said coolly. “And it’s too late to talk about this sort of thing now. Go get your men ready for battle. Without them, we’re lost.” The teyrn bowed stiffly, breezing past the Wardens and heading off to the east. Ser Cauthrien bowed to the king and followed the teyrn, motioning for her soldiers to follow.  

Cailan shook his head and turned to Duncan. “You know, if I didn’t know that he could have killed me years ago, I would swear that Loghain wanted me dead.”

 Someone snorted. Everyone looked over to Alistair, who immediately stopped grinning. Eruestan blinked; he suddenly realized who Alistair reminded him of. He and the king looked remarkably similar – they could almost be cousins.

“I’ll leave you to your men, then, Duncan,” Cailan said, considerably colder than before. “I’ll see you on the field.”

“Until then, Your Majesty,” Duncan replied, bowing. The other Wardens followed suit. The king left, followed by an old woman who had to be the Grand Cleric and Uldred, who didn’t seem to recognize any of them. The priestess and the mage were both glaring at each other in unmasked animosity, splitting ways to head down to the battlefield.

“So,” Alistair said, turning to Duncan, “what’s the plan? Do we fight with you and the king, or will we be fighting on the flanks, or are we charging on the front, or—”

“You,” Duncan said calmly, “will be in the Tower of Ishal throughout the duration of the battle.”

“We—oh!” Alistair said. “Wait, what?”

“The Tower of Ishal is the tallest point in the fortress,” Duncan said, pointing to a dizzying tower looming over the stables on the other side of the valley. “You can see it from every part of the battlefield, which is why we need to send you up there. Once the horde charges, we need someone to light a beacon at the top of the tower to send the signal to attack to Teyrn Loghain,” Duncan said. “King Cailan has specifically requested that you three be the ones to light it.”

“ _What_?” Rowena looked absolutely furious. Eruestan, however, had taken a tiny sigh of relief. “We’re Grey Wardens, we need to be on the field!”

“His Majesty wants—”

“His Majesty can get bent!” Rowena said hotly. The three men raised their eyebrows in shock. “What’s more important, killing darkspawn, or finding someone to light a damn fire?”

“I agree with Rowena, Duncan,” Alistair said. “We’ll be useless up there by ourselves!”

“Without that beacon, Teyrn Loghain won’t know when to charge,” Duncan said, eyebrows furrowed. “Someone needs to light it if we want to win.”

“Great!” Rowena said. “Have someone else do it! We should be—”

“This is not your decision to make,” Duncan said sternly. The look in his eyes made even Rowena fall silent. “If the king wants you atop that tower, you will be there. We must all do our part in this fight, no matter how boring.”

“This is ridiculous,” Rowena grumbled, folding her arms.

“That is beside the point,” the commander said. “These are your orders – do not give me reason to question your obedience.”

“We get it, we get it,” Alistair said quickly, cutting Rowena off. “Although if the king asks me to put on tights and pirouette through the horde, I’m drawing a line.”

Eruestan frowned. “You know how to pirouette?”

“Templar training involves a variety of skills,” he said, shrugging.

Duncan sighed and turned around. “The tower is across the gorge and to the right of where we first arrived in camp,” he said, pointing to its spire. “From the top, you’ll be able to see the entire field. Once it looks like the majority of the horde has been brought into the open, light the signal.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment; then, he shook his head and reached into his pouch. “I almost forgot – Alistair, I’m entrusting these documents to you until the battle is finished.”

“The treaties!” the knight said in surprise, taking the papers. “Duncan, I… I don’t understand. Why give them to me?”

“These are too valuable to bring with me onto the battlefield,” Duncan said. “If we have to retreat, however, I won’t have time to get anything from camp. Just hold on to these for me until we have a better idea what to do with them.” Horns blared in the distance; Duncan turned around sharply. “The battle is starting – I am needed on the field. Head to the tower at once – don’t forget how important your role here is.”

“We won’t,” Alistair said firmly, placing the papers inside his pouch. “And Duncan – may the Maker watch over you.”

“May He watch over us all,” Duncan said quietly. He bowed to them, and then left for the field.

Alistair watched him walk away silently, a grim look on his face. “Do you ever get a feeling…” he began, not taking his eyes off the commander. Then, Duncan disappeared beneath an archway, and Alistair shook his head. “Never mind. We should head to that tower right now.”

The three of them began jogging in the direction of the Tower of Ishal, Eruestan trying desperately to not trip on his robes. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell Rowena was still upset about being kept off the field. For her, it was understandable. He knew she would never back away from a fight, and besides, she likely wanted to look for her brother. Personally, however, he was more than a bit relieved to be separated from the rest of the fray. The past week had already contained more fighting than he’d ever wanted to see in his life.

The group made its way through the empty camp, running around tents and pillars. Before long, they had reached the massive bridge spanning the valley. Archers lined the bridge, keeping watch over the field below.

“Oh, look,” Rowena said almost longingly. Eruestan followed her gaze down and stopped, impressed. The king’s army was spread out directly below them, blocking the entrance into the valley. At the front was a huge pack of war hounds, all snarling and snapping at their leashes. Chantry priestesses were walking through the crowds, waving incense and singing prayers to Andraste and the Maker. Eruestan could make out the king standing in his golden armor in the center of the army, towards the back.

Rowena was busy identifying which lords and ladies were present on the field. “Three bats on a blue background, that’s Arl Wulff from West Hills…oh, look, Lady Bryant from Farclere is here, that’s right by Highever…huh,” she said suddenly, biting her lip, “I can’t find Fergus…”

Suddenly Cormac started to whimper. “Um…I think that’s the least of your worries…” Alistair whispered. Eruestan looked up and felt himself go pale. Rain had started to fall, clearing the mists rising from the Wilds. The drops had begun falling on his own face and clothes – he paid no attention to that, however. All he could look at was the forest.

It was now easy to see the creatures lurking in the trees, staring eerily at the army in front of them. Their front lines were standing a few feet out of the treeline, the same vile, evil monsters they had fought in the Wilds. The darkspawn stretched out far on both sides of the valley and pooled back into the trees, disappearing in the depths of the forest. With a shudder of fear, Eruestan realized that even this must have only barely scratched the surface of the darkspawn horde.

Rowena stood frozen at the edge of the bridge, her hair already plastered to her forehead. There was a flash of lightning, showing even more of the enemy than before. Cormac began howling into the night. “Shh…it’s…it’s all right, boy,” she murmured, unable to tear her eyes away. “Maker’s breath…”

The soldiers on the bridge began murmuring anxiously to each other, some visibly panicking. “This is mental!” a man near them shouted, lowering his bow. “There are too many of them! We’ll be slaughtered!”

“Shut up and get back in position, Desmond!” his commanding officer shouted, moving down the line and pushing him back. “Your family’s lives are at stake here!”

Suddenly there was a massive roar from down on the field, a blood-curdling shriek that echoed off the valley walls and sent chills down Eruestan’s spine. All eyes snapped to the battlefield; the darkspawn had started to charge. The ground started trembling beneath their feet, and Eruestan felt his knees go weak. Watching them run, he fully realized the extent of the darkspawn horde. The Fereldan forces were woefully outnumbered.

“ _Shite!_ ” The commanding officer ran to the ramparts and waved her sword through the air. “ _Archers_! _Draw_!” The soldiers notched back arrows, most shaking visibly. “ _Light_!” The troops dipped the arrow tips in the bonfires lining the ramparts. “ _Fire_!” Hundreds of flaming arrows were launched into the night, sailing gently down towards the charging horde. For a moment, Eruestan had the strangest sensation of watching a swarm of fireflies descend onto the battlefield. Then, they collided with the horde, halting its central advance. Even from their position, the squeals of the wounded darkspawn echoed in the three Wardens’ ears.

“ _Hold your arrows_!” the officer shouted. There was a whistle down below, and suddenly the war hounds were charging, all howling and snarling at the horde. Cormac raised his head and howled along with them; this time Rowena did nothing to silence him. Eruestan felt his throat catch as the Mabari drew nearer and nearer – then, the first hound pounced forward and took down a charging genlock. The beasts collided with each other, shrieks and squeals filling the air as both darkspawn and dog tore into each other. Eruestan winced as he saw one hound sliced in half by a hurlock’s sword, its yelps of pain lost in the clamor of the fight. For a moment, the dogs’ line held. Then, the darkspawn began to break through, smashing their way through the hounds.

Then, down below, a horn sounded. “ _FOR FERELDEN_!” King Cailan bellowed, his voice echoing up the gorge. Something stirred in Eruestan’s stomach as the entire Fereldan army began to roar with the king, striking their swords on their shields and charging down the field. The soldiers and the horde drew closer, two forces brought together by destiny, one meant to destroy the other.  

“We need to go!” Alistair yelled over the clamor as the two armies slammed into each other, screams and squeals filling the valley. “That tower needs to be lit now— _shite_!” A giant fireball had blossomed out of nowhere and collided into a spire in front of them, raining down stone on the archers below.

“Well that’s just not fair!” Eruestan said without thinking, feeling the blood rush from his face. Rowena giggled a little manically, her eyes wild with adrenaline as she raced ahead with Cormac at her heels. “Let’s go!” she called, looking back at them.

The three of them dashed across the bridge, Eruestan grabbing his robes to keep from tripping. Multiple fireballs were now rocketing through the night, slamming into the fortress and making the area tremble. While most collided into the walls of Ostagar, one crashed into the bridge right in front of them, knocking them to the ground and setting several archers aflame. Palms bleeding, Eruestan put out one of the soldiers with a burst of cold air. Before he could help the others, Alistair grabbing his shoulders and pushed him forward.

“Don’t waste your magic – the best way to help everyone is to get that signal lit!” he shouted over the screaming. The elf nodded blindly, running after him and ignoring the chaos around him. Arrows were now raining onto the troops on the bridge, whizzing past his ear and clattering on the stone behind him. A woman collapsed in front of them, gasping and clutching at the arrow jutting out of her throat. _This is hell_ , Eruestan thought, keeping his head down as he jumped over her body. The air was filled with screaming and bursts of fire, and he kept slipping on the stone that was wet with blood and rain. They were trapped in a nightmare, one worse than he could ever have imagined. Death was raining down around them, and all he could do was run.

Then, just like that, they were off the bridge, and the sounds of the battle were muffled, as if they were hearing it from underwater. “Come on,” Alistair shouted as the fortress shook around them from the blast of another fireball. He pointed to the Tower of Ishal, feeble in the chaos of the night despite its massive size. “We need to keep moving!”

Dashing behind him, Eruestan slowed down as he crossed under the arch. The Tower of Ishal was huge, almost as tall as the Circle Tower. From where they stood, climbing it seemed about as possible as flying to its roof. “Are we going to be able to get up there soon enough?” he asked breathlessly.

“I hope so,” Alistair said grimly. “Now let’s—”

He drew in breath sharply. At that moment, the soft, repulsive whispers that had been in the back of Eruestan’s mind since he had woken up began to grow louder and louder. He followed the knight’s gaze, and suddenly there they were. Some fifty yards ahead, a small group of soldiers were fighting desperately against a writhing wave of darkspawn.

He reacted almost by instinct. “ _Stilia_ ,” he said as Rowena, Alistair, and Cormac raced ahead. His hand drew back and thrust forward, sending an ice spike flying through the heart of a hurlock about to slice a soldier in two. Another spike was rammed into the head of an angry genlock. Suddenly, somehow he sensed something moving to his right. He glared at the two darkspawn that had tried to charge him and with a wave of his hand sent them flying through the air, cracking their necks against the stone wall behind him. Panting all of a sudden, Eruestan looked down at his hands in shock. He had never had power like this before.

Behind him, Alistair and Rowena both cut through the last of the darkspawn and looked down at the two soldiers remaining, an archer and a mage. “What’s happened here?” Alistair demanded. “How were there darkspawn here?”

“They swarmed through the lower chambers of the tower,” the mage stammered. “One minute there was nothing, and the next they were killing everyone! The whole tower’s full of them!”

“Damn it!” Alistair growled, looking up at the tower. “We have to get to that beacon!”

 “Well, come on, then,” Rowena yelled, pulling her sword out of a genlock. “You two, come with us!”

“What?” the archer gasped, rising to his feet. “We can’t go back in there!”

“Like hell you can’t!” she shouted, pushing him forward. “Now man up and draw your weapon!”

Frozen for an instant, the two men drew their breaths and joined ranks with the Wardens, making their ways up the stairs towards the tower. The entrance to the Tower was massive, with doors at least two stories tall. The giant oak doors, however, had been smashed open, looking in on a giant, darkened chamber.

“Did you do this?” Eruestan asked, pointing at the doors.

The other mage shook his head. “We tried to trap them inside, but they broke it open with magic.” He licked his lips anxiously. “Do you think that made them angry?”

“Not really important – they’re going to try to kill us anyways,” Alistair said gruffly. “Be on your guard – let’s go!”

They entered the tower cautiously, eyes scanning the shadows for any darkspawn. Aside from a few flickering torches, the main hall was mostly black, and the sounds of the battle raging outside echoed dully through the stone walls. Walking around in the dark, Eruestan stumbled over something lying on the ground. With a start, he realized that he had tripped over the legs of a dead soldier. The hall was filled with dead men, their bodies strewn over broken furniture and smashed against the stone floors.

“This isn’t good,” Alistair said grimly, grabbing one of the torches from the wall. He held it high, shining light over the sea of bodies. “This really isn’t good.”

“Where’d all the darkspawn go?” the mage whispered, stepping towards the middle of the room. “This place was crawling with them a few minutes ago.”

There was a roar from the shadows and suddenly an axe was flying through the air, embedding itself in the man’s forehead. He groaned for a moment before collapsing to the floor, hands twitching feebly at his sides. Before any of them could react, however, a stream of darkspawn had started pouring into the room, their shrieks filling the hall.

Heart pounding, Eruestan held out a hand and yelled, “ _Fulmino_!” A bolt of electricity crackled in his hand and flew across the room, crashing into the chest of a charging genlock and throwing it back onto the darkspawn, making them stumble over each other. Rowena and Cormac then ran forward, her blade flashing in the torchlight. The hurlock she jumped in front of was able to parry her first blow, but with another thrust she was able to cut it down. Meanwhile, Cormac defended her flank, ripping out a genlock’s throat and howling viciously. Still clearly stunned in the back, the archer was shooting bolts into the horde collecting at the door, creating a pile of dead darkspawn at the hall’s entrance. As for Alistair, the knight had started fighting with his sword in one hand and his torch in another, the fire streaking through the darkness and making the shadows rise and flicker.

Rowena cut down the last of the beasts and stood up, black blood splattered over her face. The room fell eerily silent again.

“Arly,” the archer croaked, running over to the mage. “No, no, no…”

“We need to keep moving,” Alistair said firmly. “We can mourn him later.” He ran a bloodstained hand through his hair, making it stand up oddly. “Maker’s breath…why are there so many here?” he asked. “We weren’t supposed to run into anything in the Tower!”

“Maybe it’s an administrative error,” Rowena quipped, panting.

The knight looked at her for a moment and then, surprisingly, grinned. “Well, looks like we’re going to have to file a complaint with the Archdemon’s secretary,” he said. He then shook his head and moved towards the door the darkspawn had come from. “Come on! Follow me!”

They tore into the next room, which led to giant staircase that wrapped around the tower. Rowena and Alistair charged ahead, their armor clattering in the narrow walls. Eruestan hurried behind them, barely able to keep from tripping over his own robes. The stone was slippery with the blood of the dead soldiers, their faces frozen in terror in the torchlight. To his horror, Eruestan saw that several of them seemed to have been gnawed on by the darkspawn, chunks of flesh having been ripped from their faces. Trying to keep from gagging, he raced forward, determined not to look down anymore.

Halfway up the tower, however, something made the building tremble. Dust was settling down onto their hair from the ceiling above as a series of thuds shook the entire building.

“Do you feel that?” Alistair gasped, clutching the wall to keep his balance. “What do you think that is?”

“It can’t be anything good,” Rowena said grimly. “We still need to keep moving.”

The closer they drew to the top of the tower, the thicker a hideous stench in the air became, something putrid and evil that made the hair on the back of Eruestan’s neck stand up. The archer began to whimper behind him, his bow trembling in his hands. They finally reached the landing at the top of the stairs, pausing to take in what was lying in wait for them. The door to the room at the top of the tower had been smashed down, blood smeared along the stone floor. The room beyond was dark, but somewhere in the black, something was breathing heavily.  

Cormac began to growl softly, his lips pulled back to show his fangs. The whispers in Eruestan’s head were loud now, calling him forward and filling him with dread. Alistair took a deep breath and started to walk slowly into the room, his sword tensed. The light from his torch wasn’t enough to fill the chamber, and for a moment they were left peering into the black, only able to hear the sounds of ragged breathing. Suddenly, Eruestan saw them: a pair of beady eyes reflected in the firelight, floating some twenty feet above them.

“Shite,” Alistair whispered in horror, freezing in his tracks. “An ogre.” Eruestan couldn’t look away, his eyes glued in horror at whatever was staring at them. Cormac started to bark loudly, and the eyes suddenly vanished, disappearing into the darkness. Whatever it was suddenly roared, making the room shudder, and Eruestan had to yell in terror. The archer had started screaming, huddling down and babbling any prayer he could think of. Only Rowena stood her ground, her sword held in front of her as her face twisted into a terrible snarl.

Then, lightning flashed in the windows outside, and Eruestan’s mind went blank.

It had only been a flash, but it had been enough to paralyze him with fear. It had the same mottled pale skin and leering eyes of a darkspawn, but it was a giant, easily three times as tall as anything he had ever seen. Its face had been shrunken and skeletal, with gnarled, bloodstained fangs and rippling, powerful muscles. What struck him most of all, however, were its horns, great, twisted branches that rose out of its head and that were covered in gore. The beast was terrifying, a monster from a nightmare.

The ogre roared again, so loudly and so violently that it felt as though it were echoing inside Eruestan’s head. Suddenly, the ground started rocking as something started pounding into it. Eruestan barely had time to realize that the beast was charging them before he was thrown to the side by some monstrous force, whacking his head against the stone floors. There was an agonized scream as he sat up in a daze, one that was suddenly cut short with a sickening crunch. Clutching at his head, Eruestan tried to get his bearings. Alistair’s torch had gone out, however, and the ogre’s roars mixed with Cormac’s howls were making it impossible to think straight.

“Eruestan,” Rowena said suddenly in his ear, pulling him to his feet. He leaned against her heavily, unable to even wonder how she had found him in the dark. “Eruestan, we need light! Hurry!”

Gasping for breath, the elf nodded and closed his eyes. “ _L-lumen_ ,” he stammered, flicking out his hands almost lazily. A lopsided, flickering white light began hovering near the ceiling of the room, almost dancing around the ogre’s horns. The darkspawn roared at the light, so loud it rattled the windowpanes, and immediately tried to swat at it with its giant hands. Its chest was covered in blood; Eruestan looked over and saw the broken mass of armor that had been the archer. On the far side of the room, Alistair tried to sneak around to the thin staircase that had to lead to the beacon. The ogre noticed him, however, and charged in his direction, forcing him to dive out of the way.

Alistair scrambled to his feet and ran over to Eruestan, Rowena, and Cormac. They all huddled together for a moment, looking across the room at the monster facing them. The ogre was half-shrouded in darkness, staring back at them with unblinking, dead eyes.

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair whispered. “What are we going to— _scatter_!”

The ogre had wrenched a statue from off the wall and chucked it at them, forcing them to dive out of the way. The stone shattered to pieces where they stood, showering them with bits of rock and stone. The ogre roared again and then charged at them, its fists dragging as it lowered its horns. Pushing Eruestan out of the way, Rowena ducked under its head and managed to slash up at its chest with her sword. It howled in pain and stumbled over itself, crashing into the far wall with enough force to almost make Eruestan stumble. For a moment, he thought it might have been killed. However, it quickly struggled back to its feet, howling wildly. Rowena tried to charge at it again. Before she could, however, it swung out an arm, whacking her to the side like a doll.

Still clutching his head, Eruestan reached out with one hand and spat out, “ _Gelidus_!”. A thin patch of ice formed on the ogre’s arm. To his surprise, however, the ice quickly melted, and the ogre quickly turned its attention to him. Rowena was still picking herself up off the ground on the other side of the room, and Alistair was hovering at the beacon stairs, clearly torn between finishing the mission and helping them fight. Eruestan was on his own. Heart racing, he concentrated and sent a bolt of lightning arcing across the room, where it charred a circle into the beast’s chest. All this did, however, was make it furious. Charging, it struck him to the side, slamming the mage into the wall. His body erupted in pain, and for a moment he blacked out. When he came to, the room was once more pitched in darkness, his light spell having vanished.

“Eruestan!” Rowena cried from somewhere in the chamber. “Are you all right?”

“I’m…bhfrine…” he tried to shout, spitting out blood. The force from the blow had knocked out one of his teeth. “Here, I’w wight…anovver….” He twitched his hand, sending up a very shaky light charm that flickered against the ceiling. The ogre roared and tried swatting at it again. The light merely passed through his fingers, unfazed.

“It hates the light!” Rowena shouted. “Eruestan, cast it again!”

“Wha? We awredi haf a—”

“We need more light!” she screamed. “Give it all you’ve got!”

“Ok!” There was a spell for more light, wasn’t there? Hadn’t Leorah taught them that last year? Eruestan sat up slowly and tried to focus, channeling what was left of his strength into his magic. “ _Radia_!” he shouted, his tongue pushing through the hole where his tooth had been. A giant ray of light shot out of his hands, bursting across the room and colliding with the monster’s head. Blinded, it swung its arms around, roaring at the ceiling as it clapped its hands to its face.

This was all Rowena needed. With a fierce cry, she raced forward and leapt through the air, sword over her head. The blade pierced the ogre’s chest, landing right in its heart. With a terrible groan, the beast collapsed to the ground with a force that shook the walls. Black blood began to pour over the floor as its breathing slowly stopped.

Alistair stood next to its body and whistled. “Welcome to the Order, I guess.”

Rowena pulled her sword out of the beast’s body and spat. “It’s been a barrel of joy. Eruestan, are you all right?”

He nodded, too dazed to acknowledge the stabs of pain coming from all over the left side of his body. “Wet’s get that beacon wit,” he slurred, clutching at his ribs. “Come on!.”

The stairs leading to beacon were narrow and rickety, but with Rowena’s help he was able to climb up with them. They walked out onto the roof of the tower together, nearly slipping on the rainwater that had pooled on the stone. There was a large pile of wood stacked up in front of them, dripping wet from the weather. Alistair ran forward and looked around frantically.

“I can’t find anything to light it with!” he said desperately, peering down at the floor. “It’s too wet!”

Eruestan staggered forward and stretched out his hand. “I’f got this,” he said, taking a deep, rasping breath through all the pain. “ _Depono_!” With a flick of his hands, he set the pile aflame, the flames roaring in the night. There was a flash of heat, and suddenly the night was lit up by fire, shining out into the black surrounding them.

 “Finally,” Alistair sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just hope we aren’t too late…”

“Only one way to find out,” Rowena said, turning back to the stairs. “Let’s get down there as soon as we—”

There was a loud whisper in Eruestan’s head. Dazed, he turned around to see a hurlock fire an arrow into his chest. A whole band of darkspawn were charging after them onto the roof, firing arrows at Rowena, Alistair, and Cormac. Gasping from the pain, he slumped against the floor, his eyes going out of focus. Oddly enough, he thought he saw a giant black shape circle around the tower. Then, his eyes rolled back into his head, and everything went dark.


	12. The Betrayal

Ser Cauthrien sat quietly on her horse, body tensed for battle. Teyrn Loghain’s men were waiting well off the battlefield, but the screams from the fight were still echoing in their ears. Many of the men were whispering to themselves, their faces white with fear. Cauthrien, however, stood firm. She had seen far too many fights to be so easily shaken, and she had full confidence in the judgment of the lord she served. Once the soldiers from Gwaren threw themselves into the fray, the darkspawn would be beaten back.

Her eyes flicked up to the Tower of Ishal, some 500 feet above them. The beacon still was not lit. She frowned and looked back at the teyrn. “Should we charge without the beacon, Your Grace?” she asked. “Surely most of the horde is on the field by now.”

Loghain shook his head, lost in thought. “No,” he said distantly. “We’ll wait for the signal…”

Cauthrien furrowed her eyebrows, but lapsed back into silence. In the seventeen years of service, she had never questioned the teyrn’s orders, and she wasn’t about to start now. Indeed, it was hard to see how anyone could disregard the teyrn of Gwaren. He had been one of the leaders in the rebellion against the Orlesians and, along with his daughter, had essentially ruled Ferelden in the name of the crown. If Loghain didn’t think it was time to strike, it wasn’t time to strike.

Still, she could hear the soldiers getting anxious behind her. She supposed she couldn’t blame them. Despite being one of the greatest warriors in Ferelden (this, of course, being an objective fact – Cauthrien hated idle praise), she herself had very little experience fighting the darkspawn. In fact, she had only fought against them twice in the past week during forays into the Wilds. They were terrible beasts, strong and crudely clever, and she could see why the average soldier would tremble at the thought of them. The creatures she had encountered had all died, though, and she was sure these ones would as well.

“Ser Cauthrien,” the teyrn said suddenly. She whipped her head towards him. “Tell me,” he said, still looking forward, “what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

It was a strange question to ask before a battle, but then the teyrn often chose odd times to wax philosophical. She considered the question seriously, reflecting on her past. She had of course killed scores of people throughout her career. That, however, was just part of the job, and in any case it always been on someone else’s orders. What was she ashamed of, then? What kept her lying awake at night? “There is one thing, Your Grace,” she said suddenly, flushing at the memory. “Do you remember when you recruited me, all those years ago?”

He nodded. “How could I forget? You saved my life from bandits – it was the least I could do, recruiting you into my service.”

“And it was a great honor,” she said. “But…I…I left without my father’s permission, Your Grace. He forbade me to leave and I disobeyed him.”

The teyrn seemed vaguely amused. “That’s it? The worst thing you’ve ever done?”

She bowed her head. “Yes, Your Grace, it is.”

He shook his head, then stared at her gravely. “Ser Cauthrien – I forgive you.”

She blinked, confused. “Your Grace?”

She was met with silence. Loghain had returned to his thoughts.

Suddenly, the roof of the Tower of Ishal burst into flames, flaring wildly in the night sky and sending nervous murmurs rippling through the army. Cauthrien tightened the reigns on her horse and turned to the teyrn once more.

“Your Grace!” she said. “The signal!”

Loghain was still staring ahead into the night, his eyes focusing on something she couldn’t see. “Sound the retreat.”

Her pulse was suddenly very loud and very quick. “What?”

He turned to her. “Sound the retreat, Ser Cauthrien.”

The question came like a reflex, Cauthrien had no time to suppress it. “But what about the king?”

The teyrn’s eyes were flashing terribly. “That is an order, Cauthrien _._ ”

For a moment she did not waver under his gaze, staring in horror at the man she respected more than any other. Then, she looked away and jerked her horse around. “ _Fall back, men_!” she shouted, gesturing with her sword. “ _Come on, let’s move_!” Bewildered yet clearly relieved, the soldiers began marching away from the battle. As she watched them retreat, Cauthrien couldn’t help but feel a knot of dread form in her stomach.

 _They’re your orders_ , she tried to tell herself. _Only orders…The teyrn knows what he’s doing. He has to_.

The words rang false as the screams of dying men echoed in her ears. _We have to believe in Loghain now_ , she thought as she turned her back on Ostagar. _And may the Maker help us all._  

* * *

The battle raged on ferociously in the valley, the screams and cries echoing into the night. The army had fought valiantly, but for each darkspawn that fell another four  more charged in to take its place. The soldiers were starting to fall back, more and more of them falling to the horde’s onslaught. Duncan was fighting with the force of ten men, creating a ring of death and blood around him. However, that wasn’t enough to hold back the monsters. From he stood in the valley, he could barely see the Tower of Ishal.

“Why haven’t they lit that damn beacon?” Eddric shouted from a few paces over, swinging his axe through the air. “They should have gotten there by now!”

“That’s why we shouldn’t let kids do this shit!” Unga shouted. Her own axe had disappeared towards the beginning of the battle, and she was now fighting with two daggers. Duncan couldn’t help but agree with them. The Fereldan forces were buckling fast, and he had lost the rest of the Order in the chaos. If they didn’t light the beacon soon, there would be little left for the reserve to save.

A genlock to his left stabbed a soldier in the leg, and Duncan quickly slashed at its neck, saving the man from its blade. However, a moment later a different genlock finished the soldier off. A few paces away, King Cailan was struggling with two hurlocks, both beating down on his greatsword. Grunting from the effort, Duncan began running to help him. However, before he could reach the king, a stray arrow sailed through the night and landed deep in his side, knocking him to the ground. Gasping with pain, he looked up towards the king…and that’s when he saw it.

Charging down the field, knocking soldiers and darkspawn to the side, was a giant ogre, blood smeared around its mouth. Fifty paces away, Cailan decapitated both of his adversaries with one sweep of his sword, woefully unaware of the monster headed directly his way.

“Your Majesty!” Duncan gasped, trying to pull himself up despite the pain. He looked around for Eddric or Unga. Both of them, however, had disappeared in the chaos. Cailan looked around at the call and instantly froze upon seeing what was charging at him.

“ _Cailan_! _Move_!” Duncan shouted, struggling to his knees. It was too late; the ogre was upon the king. He tried slashing at the beast’s arm, his blade barely grazing its skin. With a ferocious roar, the beast grabbed like a toy and shoved him directly in its face. For a horrifying moment, Duncan thought it was going to bite him in half. Instead, it roared again, spraying spittle into the king’s face. Then, it squeezed its fist tight, ignoring Cailan’s attempts to break himself free. With a horrifying crack and a spray of blood, the king went limp.

“ _No_!” Duncan yelled as the beast chucked Cailan’s body through the air. He flew like a ragdoll into the canyon wall and with a clatter landed at its base, dead.

Breathing heavily, Duncan looked back at the ogre, which was roaring into the night. The soldiers surrounding it were backing away, cowed. Once it started charging again, it would make short work of the entire army. Duncan narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath. With a burst of rage, he jumped to his feet and raced forward, both blades drawn. Pushing off hard from the ground, he leapt through the air and sank both his swords deep into the ogre’s chest. It roared and tried to beat him off. Unshaken, he pulled out his left blade and plunged it deep into its heart. With a howl, the darkspawn collapsed to the ground with a great thud, the sound echoing off the canyon walls.

Duncan fell to his knees. Around him, the horde was pressing harder and harder; the Fereldan army was crumbling. His eyes drifted over to the king’s lifeless body. Groaning in pain, he climbed to his feet and staggered over to the corpse, collapsing beside it. He was slowly being surrounded by a circle of death, soldiers falling left and right to darkspawn blades. Any sense of order within the army had given way to pure panic, the Fereldan soldiers beginning to run off the field in terror. Duncan looked up to the sky, his body shuddering in agony. High up on the gorge’s wall, the Tower of Ishal was blazing bright against the dark night. _Loghain isn’t coming_ , he thought dully as people fell screaming around him. _He’s not_ … Duncan looked around sadly. There was no hope left for anyone still in the valley.

There was a flash of lightning – a hurlock alpha wearing a giant horned helmet was charging at him, holding a battle-axe high. Duncan merely stared at it, grimly accepting his fate.

_It’s up to them now. Only they can save us._

The hurlock’s axe swung through the air, and something sharp crashed heavily into Duncan’s skull.

Then everything went white.


	13. The Way Forward

There was a goat staring at Rowena’s face.

With a gasp, she sat up straight, crashing into the goat’s body. Scrambling to get out of the way, she fell out of her cot and stared around wildly, completely disoriented. She was in a small, windowless room filled with grime and crude furniture. She had been lying under what appeared to be a meat rack. Two rabbits and a wolf hung next to the goat, their faces all frozen in looks of abject horror. Bewildered, she looked around the room in a panic, convinced she had gone insane. To her relief, she then saw Eruestan lying on a cot on the other side of the room.

“Eruestan,” she croaked, moving over to his cot. “Eruestan!” She nudged him in the side, praying he wasn’t dead. His eyes fluttered open, however, and he sat up in a jolt.

“What the—where are we?” he said frantically, looking around in a panic.

“I…I don’t know,” she admitted, falling to her knees. “Definitely not the Tower of Ishal.”

“The Tower of…” Eruestan’s voice trailed off as he looked at her in shock. He then grabbed at his stomach and looked down in wonder. “Okay, call me crazy, but I distinctly remember having an arrow sticking out of here a few minutes ago.”

Rowena frowned and felt her chest, too. Somehow, there wasn’t even a scar where the arrow had struck her. Eruestan, too, looked completely healed from all the damage she had seen him take – even his missing tooth had grown back. “Same here…”

The elf looked at her in horror. “Are we…did we die?”

She looked around bleakly at their surroundings. “If this is the afterlife, I really hope not…”

“You are not dead,” someone said from inside the room. The two of them yelped and spun around to see the last person either of them could have possibly expected.

“Morrigan!” Rowena said, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

The witch laughed and stood up from her chair. She was dressed in the same ragged robes as last time, her yellow eyes shining at them in the poorly-lit hut. “This is my home, do you not realize? Or do you not remember my mother’s rescue?”

“Rescue?” Eruestan asked. “From the tower?”

Morrigan nodded. “Mother managed to save the two of you and your friend during the battle. ‘Twas a close call, of course, but she managed it all the same.”

“What?” Eruestan asked in shock. “How? That tower was easily 300 feet tall…”

“She turned into a giant bird, grabbed you in her talons, and flew you back here,” Morrigan said, shrugged. “A bit dramatic, true, but then Mother has always been a bit dramatic…”

“Oh!” Eruestan looked stunned. “Ok…I…what?”

Rowena wasn’t sure if that was something that mages normally did, but from the look on Eruestan’s face she could tell that it had to be a little extraordinary. She tried to remember back to the tower, if she had seen something like Morrigan had described before she fainted. But no, the last thing she had seen had been the hurlock that had killed her – because hadn’t it killed her, in the end? The arrow had been jutting out of her heart, she was sure of that. She suddenly shuddered, realizing how much they owed the witches.

Eruestan, too, seemed to have reached the same conclusion. “I…Thank you, Morrigan,” he said, hugging his knees to his chest. “We owe you our lives.”

“Mother is the one who saved you and healed your wounds, not me,” the witch said. “Thank her if you must.”

“Then we will,” Rowena said shakily. She rubbed her temples slowly, still trying to figure out what was going on. Nothing seemed to make sense – how had her mother known where to find them? And why had she brought them back there? She remembered with a start that Morrigan’s mother called herself Flemeth. Did that mean they were in Flemeth’s hut? She was suddenly suspicious, looking carefully into the corners for any hidden traps. “If you don’t mind my asking, Morrigan, why did your mother save us?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “Not that we’re ungrateful or anything, but why help us when there was a giant battle raging in the valley?”

Morrigan shrugged. “I asked her the same question. I would have understood if she had saved your king – he would have been worth a much larger ransom.”

“Much, much larger,” Rowena agreed.

“A sensible outlook – not one that Mother adopted, unfortunately.” She sighed. “No matter – no use crying over the dead now.”

Eruestan and Rowena both stared at her for a moment, letting those words sink in. “The…the dead?” Rowena asked. “What do you mean, the dead? Is the king dead?”

“Yes,” Morrigan said. “Unfortunately, there wasn’t much Mother could do. He was dead before anyone knew what was happening.”

Rowena sat back down in shock. She was having trouble breathing, her mind reeling in horror. The king couldn’t be dead, not Cailan. He was a golden hero, someone everyone had loved. She herself had secretly been enamored with him for years. Hadn’t the whole country depended on him after his father had disappeared? What would Ferelden do without him? “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “The king is dead.”

Morrigan nodded. “He was among the first, as well. The rest of the army was not too far behind, however.”

“What?” Rowena cried, staring up at her in dawning horror. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“Your army was destroyed,” the witch said simply. “The darkspawn horde won the battle.”

“ _No_!” They both leapt to their feet, staring at her in horror. “That’s impossible!” Rowena cried, fear gripping her heart. “We lit the signal! Teyrn Loghain was waiting in reserve!”

“Yes, well, this ‘Loghain’ left the field after you lit your signal,” Morrigan said, raising an eyebrow. “The darkspawn won your battle and completely massacred your armies. The only survivors were stragglers who escaped before the horde could reach them.”

“We…we lost?” Rowena couldn’t accept it. The odds had been terrible, true, but she had been convinced that the Fereldan forces would be enough to beat back the horde, that the threat would end with them. Now, however, she couldn’t help but think of those monsters pushing forward to the north, swarming villages, corrupting the countryside with their Taint. “We…this is…this is…”

“This is horrible,” Eruestan finished, face in his hands. “We’re all doomed.”

“I concluded as much from your friend,” Morrigan said. “He’s been awake for a few hours, and has been inconsolable the whole time.”

“Alistair!” Rowena said. “Thank the Maker – and my hound? Is he all right, too?”

She nodded. “He was greatly injured like you, of course, but ‘twas nothing Mother could not heal. All of you have been convalescing for days. They are both is outside now if you would like to see him.” She walked over to an old, broken-down armoire and pulled open its doors. “Your armor was ruined, you shall have to take some clothes from us.”

Rowena stepped forward warily, sure she was about to receive something ragged, maybe even made out of human flesh. To her surprise, Morrigan withdrew two sets of relatively normal traveling clothes. She and Eruestan dressed quickly, pulling rough wool tunics over their heads and climbing into well-crafted leather pants. “I believe these, too, belong to you,” the witch said, reaching into the armoire again.

Rowena looked up and took the amulet Morrigan was offering her. She suddenly thought of something, a question more important than anything else. “You said there were stragglers – do you know if my brother survived? He’s tall, with brown hair…?”

“How specific,” Morrigan said. Rowena flushed, realizing how stupid her question must have sounded. “Unfortunately, I would not be able to tell you. Mother, however, might know.”

Rowena shivered violently, gripped with a terrible thought regarding her brother’s safety. Beside her, Eruestan finishing tying his belt and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, we need to see Alistair,” he said gently. “We’ll get everything sorted out, ok?” She slowly nodded and took a strip of fabric, tying up her hair behind her. She then picked up her sword and shield. Their weight felt good in her hands, a small comfort in the face of so much horror. Before she left the hut, she turned to the witch and gave a half-smile. “I know it was your mother’s decision, but thank you all the same, Morrigan. We would’ve been dead if it weren’t for you two.”

The witch shrugged and walked over to the fireplace. “Thank me if you like, I suppose. I did not have much choice in the matter.”

Eruestan and Rowena opened the door and walked out of the hut. It was a dark day, the skies above broiling with evil-looking storm clouds. The whispers of the Taint were lingering in the back of her mind, but Rowena didn’t pay much attention to them. Instead, she immediately dropped to her knees and cried out happily. “Cormac! Come here, boy!”

Her hound leapt up from where he was lying at Alistair’s feet, barking in joy and bounding over to her, licking her face in excitement. Shuddering with happiness, she plunged her face into his neck and held him tight.  

“You see?” Flemeth said from nowhere, walking up behind her. Rowena immediately went tense and stood up, taking a step away from the witch. Flemeth was wearing a strange headdress, something with tall horns that reminded her of the monster from the night on the tower. “Both your fellows, alive and well. You had no need to worry.”

“Thank the Maker,” Alistair murmured, grabbing both of them. Rowena felt a flush of warmth as he held her, relieved that he had survived as well. He, too, was wearing a set of patchy traveling clothes, one that fit him a little less well than the others. “I thought you were dead for sure.”

“We’re a bit hardier than that, apparently,” Eruestan said, stepping back. “But Alistair…”

“I know,” he said quietly. His voice hitched a little. “Duncan’s…Duncan’s dead, along with the rest of the Order… And the king…” His voice trailed off.

“It just doesn’t seem real,” Rowena whispered. “King Cailan…how could we have lost?”

“Quite easily,” Flemeth croaked, humming to herself. “The horde was twenty times the size of your army. No one could have stood against odds like that.”

Rowena bit her lip, unwilling to cross the witch. Alistair, however, turned to her angrily. “If you knew what we were facing, why didn’t you warn us?” he snapped. “Better yet, why didn’t you save Duncan? He was our leader! He would have known what to do way better than us!”

“We can argue the past all you like, boy,” she replied. “What matters now, however, is what we do in the present. At the moment, you must focus on your duty. The Grey Wardens are needed now more than ever to unite the land to defeat the Blight.”

“Something tells me Teyrn Loghain isn’t too keen on unity at the moment,” Alistair spat.

“That’s another thing I don’t understand,” Rowena said hopelessly, shaking her head. “Loghain loves Ferelden, more than any man my father’d ever met – why would he betray us at a time like this?”

“I doubt your teyrn realizes the threat he faces,” Flemeth said. “Ambitious men often prefer to underestimate any danger that lies in their path.”

“But what would he be after?” Rowena asked. “We all knew he was the power behind the throne anyways – what does he get by betraying the king here?”

“I’ll tell you what he should get,” Alistair growled. “And he’ll get it, too. The other nobles will never forgive him once they’ve realized what he’s done.”

“Definitely not,” Rowena agreed. “Cailan was a Theirin, he had the blood of Calenhad – the Bannorn will never stand for this.”

“If the Bannorn ever finds out,” Eruestan objected. They both looked at him in confusion. “I don’t think Loghain’s going to ride back to Denerim bragging about how he betrayed the king,” he explained. “He’s probably got his own version of events – maybe that the horde was too powerful, or that he didn’t see the signal until it was too late. I think we’re going to have to challenge him if we want justice, and who would believe us over him?”

“Arl Eamon of Redcliffe would,” Alistair said. “He was Cailan’s uncle. He has all his troops, too – the forces of Redcliffe weren’t at Ostagar.”

“Fergus would believe us, too,” Rowena said, almost to herself. Where was her brother? Was he dead, his face half-eaten by some darkspawn? Suddenly, Flemeth stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was gnarled yet surprisingly firm, clutching onto her shoulder relentlessly. Rowena flinched in fear, but the witch did not break her grasp.

“Your brother was not on the field at Ostagar,” she said, voice distant. “His scouting party never returned from the Wilds. I know not where he is – or even if he is still alive – but you cannot go looking for him. The horde is too heavily entrenched in these Wilds – to chase a lost man through them would be utter folly.”

Had any other person told her this, Rowena would have fought back. This, however, was Flemeth, and any Cousland would know to listen to what she had to say. Blinking furiously, she nodded and then looked away, tears smarting at the corners of her eyes. _I’m so sorry, Fergus,_ she thought, trying to keep herself calm. _Maker watch over you, wherever you are – please, please stay alive_.

Eruestan and Alistair were looking at each other awkwardly, both clearly unsure as to what to say. “So let’s suppose this Arl Eamon doesn’t believe us,” Eruestan said uncertainly, still looking at Rowena. She wiped her cheek and raised her head, determined not to crack. “What would we do then?”

“I was under the impression that you had more ties and connections than old noblemen,” Flemeth said, looking up at the sky.

“Of course!” Alistair said, starting. “The treaties! Where did I…?”

“Here they are,” Flemeth said, pulling them out of her dress. “I must say, I’m becoming quite fond of these documents – next time I might not give them back.”

“Er…hopefully it won’t come to that,” Alistair said, taking them from her. It was a thick packet, full of dense text that seemed to be written in lots of different languages. The knight flipped through them, shaking his head. “I think I know now why Duncan gave these to me…”

“But that’s it, though, isn’t it?” Eruestan said, his voice suddenly hopeful. “These treaties force people to fight with us!”

Alistair nodded. “Elves, dwarves, humans, mages…all signed and sealed…”

“I don’t know much about warfare,” Flemeth said, “but elves, dwarves, mages, and noblemen? This sounds like an army to me.”

Alistair looked up at Eruestan and Rowena. “Can we do this? Head to Redcliffe and the rest of Ferelden and raise an army?”

Rowena looked up at him, her face firm. There was only one way to look – forward. She would find her brother, and the Blight would be stopped. “It doesn’t matter if we can,” she said. “We have to, and we will.”

“Spoken like true Grey Wardens,” Flemeth said, eyes gleaming. “I wonder if I might be able to help you further in your mission?”

Eruestan grimaced. “I think at this point, we’ll take all the help we can get.”

“A wise choice,” Flemeth said. “As a matter of fact, there is one more favor I can grant you.”

At that moment, the door to the hut opened and Morrigan walked out. “I think the stew is ready, Mother,” she said, glancing up at the darkening clouds. “Will our guests be staying for dinner?”

“No, my dear,” Flemeth replied, “and neither will you.”

“Oh, no, _such_ a pit—wait, what?” Morrigan turned around and stared at her mother. “What do you mean, neither will I? I live here!”

“Not anymore,” the witch said. “Wardens, I offer you my daughter’s services. Morrigan’s magic is strong, and she will be able to lead you out of these Wilds and around the darkspawn horde.”

“Have I no say in this?” Morrigan snapped. “You would just send me away with these strangers, like a worn traveling cloak?”

“My dear, you are much colder than a cloak could ever be,” Flemeth replied. “Besides, I know you’ve been yearning to leave these Wilds for years. What better chance could you have, and for such a good cause!” She turned back to the others. “As for you, Wardens, consider this as repayment for the loss of your king and leader.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Rowena said, her heart suddenly racing. However talented Morrigan may be, she didn’t think it was wise letting Flemeth’s daughter travel with them, especially if the old crone was who she thought she was. “We hardly know her, and once we leave the Wilds, she’ll be an apostate mage. That’s a huge risk.”

“If you didn’t want help from mages outside the Chantry, girl, I should have left you to die atop that tower,” Flemeth said sharply. “My Morrigan is as clever as they come. She’ll not attract any undue attention.”

“I cannot say I’m thrilled, Mother,” Morrigan said, obviously struggling to keep her voice calm. “This was not how I envisioned leaving the Wilds – I’m not even ready, I—”

“You have to be, girl!” Flemeth barked, making everyone jump. “These three are tasked with saving the world from this Blight! Without you, _they will fail_ , and then all will be lost. These Wilds, this hut…even me.”

Morrigan glared at her for a moment, then sighed. “I understand, Mother.”

“Good girl.” Flemeth shot a look so dark at the Wardens it made Rowena’s blood go cold. “As for you three, know that I give you my daughter, my most prized possession in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Despite her misgivings, Rowena knew there was no way they could refuse now. She bowed her head, trying to hide a shiver. “We understand.”

“Then run and get your things, girl,” Flemeth said to Morrigan. “You have a long journey in front of you, you’ll want to look your best.” Her daughter rolled her eyes and left for the hut. An awkward silence lapsed over the group as Flemeth went back to staring at the sky, whistling eerily to herself. The three exchanged a glance, unsure of what to say. Alistair then coughed.

“So, uh, you have a lovely home,” he said. “Did you build it yourself?”

“Silence, boy,” Flemeth said sharply, “I’m whistling.”

“I…ok.” Alistair turned his back to her, clearly slightly offended.

There was another moment of silence. Rowena looked over at the old woman, a thousand questions racing through her mind. Could they really trust Morrigan? It all depended on who Flemeth actually was – if she was just a harmless old woman in the middle of the woods, then she was afraid for no reason. She finally took a deep breath and said, “If you don’t mind, Flemeth, I have a question for you.”

The witch looked down and stopped whistling, smiling faintly. “Now this is interesting. What is it, dearie?”

Rowena looked her straight in the face, trying to find answers in her ancient eyes. “Tell me, are you the Flemeth that I think you are?”

She cackled. “Well, that depends – which Flemeth _do_ you think I am, child?”

Rowena frowned and began to ask another question. Before she could, however, the door to the hut slammed open. “I am ready, Mother,” Morrigan said, now bearing a rucksack. “Wardens, I am now at your disposal.”

“Take this, girl,” Flemeth said, pulling out a large jar from her pocket. Rowena frowned, wondering what else she had hidden on her person. “It’s what I’ve placed around to hide the hut – the horde will smell it instead of these three. I suggest heading to Manderdale—no, no, Lothering. Yes, take them to Lothering, so many roses in Lothering…”

“As you wish,” Morrigan sighed. “Farewell, Mother. Take care of the hut while I’m gone – I would hate to come back to a messy home.”

“You likely will come back to nothing at all, merely smoldering ruins and my head on a pike,” Flemeth said.

Morrigan faltered. “I…I didn’t mean…”

“I know, girl,” the old witch said. “Now go on – and do try to have a good time.”

“Goodbye, Flemeth,” Eruestan said, a little awkward. “Thank you for everything.”

“Yes, thank you,” Alistair said. “I don’t know how to make this up to you.”

“Defeat this Blight, and we’ll consider it even,” the witch said. Rowena passed by silently, eyeing her from the side.

“Let us move, then,” Morrigan said, walking ahead. “Lothering is about a day’s march from here. We should arrive there by tomorrow morning.”

“Have you ever been there?” Eruestan asked, walking beside her. Rowena hung back a little, Cormac trotting at her side.

“A few times,” Morrigan replied. “I used to go quite often when I was younger to observe the people and see how they lived. ‘Tis a small village, not very important at all, yet the chantry there is particularly strong and makes life rather…intolerable, for strangers like me.”

“There’s a chantry there, and they never once thought that you were a mage?” Alistair asked, smiling. “And I thought I was a bad Templar…”

“Oh, they had their suspicions, and even sent Templars out to find us,” the witch said. “The only thing they ever found, though, was their swift death at the hands of Mother’s magic.”

Alistair’s smile faded. “That’s…horrifying.”

She smiled. “Is it? If they had found us, at best we would have been carted away – at worst, we ourselves would have been killed. Defending your home and your life – is that really so horrifying?”

“Those men were doing their duty!” Alistair said in horror. “You didn’t have to kill them!”

She turned to raise an eyebrow at him as they entered the trees. “You would rather have them wander in the Wilds, get lost, and starve to death in the cold? My, you are darker than I gave you credit for.”

Alistair looked stunned. “Erm…that’s not what I—”

“Anyways, Morrigan,” Eruestan said quickly, cutting him off. “If you don’t mind my asking, what sort of skills do you have? Your mother seems to have very strong magic…”

“Yes, Mother does,” she said. “I’ve learned quite a bit from her, too. I am nowhere near as powerful as she is, however.”

“No turning into a bird, then?” Eruestan said drily.

Morrigan looked at him, then turned into a raven.

“ _Shite_!” The three of them jumped back in surprise. Morrigan morphed back, smirking. “I’ve never seen anyone do that before,” Eruestan said in wonder.

“I have other powers, too, that I doubt you would want to see,” she said calmly. “But enough of this idle chatter. We have far to go, and our enemies surround us.”

They marched on for the rest of the day, sweating under the black clouds. Morrigan pulled far ahead of the rest of the group, pausing at several points and changing directions, climbing through the trees as though she were part of the Wilds herself. Amazingly, they managed to avoid any darkspawn at all, Flemeth’s magic apparently doing its work. Still, by the time night fell, they were as exhausted as if they had fought half the horde.

“We shall camp here,” Morrigan said suddenly, stopping at the base of a large tree. “We can buy tents tomorrow. For now, the ground shall have to do.”

There was a loud rumbling. The three Wardens looked at their stomachs and then at each other. “Is there…food, maybe?” Eruestan asked weakly. “I’m starving…”

“Oh, Maker, same here,” Rowena moaned. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week.”

“That’s the Taint,” Alistair said grimly. “It’ll calm down after a while – I remember when I joined, I almost ate the camp dry. Morrigan, do you think you could make us something?”

The witch frowned. “I am not your cook.”

“Hm? Oh! Oh, no, it’s not…I didn’t mean _that_ ,” he said hurriedly. “It’s just, you know these Wilds, these two have no experience cooking for themselves, and I’m miserable at it.”

“I will get food,” she said, eyebrow raised. “I will also restock my supply of poison herbs. Not that that has anything to do with cooking, of course…”

“Er…point taken…” Alistair waited until she had left to sigh loudly to Rowena and Eruestan. “This is going to be a long Blight.”

“So long as we live through it, I won’t mind,” Eruestan replied.

“That might have gotten a bit harder,” Rowena said quietly.

Alistair’s face grew somber. “You mean after Ostagar?”

“No…” She took a deep breath. “Look, it’s just…Have either of you heard of Flemeth before?” They shook their heads. “Well, there’s a legend in Highever that the Cousland family originally came to power after a woman named Flemeth was possessed by a demon and killed her husband, the ruling lord of the area. She then escaped, and no one heard from her ever since.”

“So she’s some sort of fugitive?” Alistair asked.

“No, it’s not that,” Eruestan said slowly. “The Couslands have been in power in Highever for centuries…if she’s the same woman, she’s got to be at least 600 years old.”

“But that’s impossible,” Alistair said. “Magic can’t make you immortal.”

“Eruestan just said he’s never heard of anyone shapeshifting before, and that’s obviously real,” Rowena pointed out. “Mothers in Highever tell their children stories about Flemeth to make them behave. If that was the same person, we may have just agreed to work with something just as dark as the Blight. It wouldn’t hurt us to be careful, is all.”

“I agree whole-heartedly,” Morrigan said suddenly. They all jumped and looked back. She was carrying a giant pile of mushrooms, her hands smeared with a bit of dirt. “A fire for cooking meat would attract the attention of the darkspawn horde. These shall have to do for tonight.”

“We’ll take it,” Rowena said, grabbing some of the mushrooms from her hands. “Thank you, Morrigan.”

She nodded and walked over to a different tree. “Where are you going?” Eruestan asked.

“I shall sleep here,” she said, pulling out a cloak from her sack and laying it on the ground. “Do not bother me until the morning.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Alistair muttered, picking up a mushroom. He examined it closely. “You think this is poisoned?” he whispered, sniffing the surface.

“Maker, I don’t care,” Rowena gasped, taking a bite. They quickly devoured the rest and lay down, hunger slightly sated.

“Good night, then?” Rowena asked, curling up next to Cormac

“Good night,” Alistair said. “I’m glad none of us died.”

“Not yet, at least,” Eruestan said from a little ways over.

“That’s the spirit,” Rowena sighed, looking up at the skies above. The mists surrounded them, blocking out the light from the stars. Somehow, even in the middle of the horde, the Blight and the darkspawn seemed hundreds of miles away. They would beat them, and she would find her brother. She had to. Smiling gently at this new surge of courage, Rowena nestled against her hound and fell asleep, ready to face the challenges of the coming days.


	14. Out of the Woods

_Fergus was hanging from a tree, his face blue, his eyes gouged out by darkspawn. ‘No!’ she screamed, jumping for his feet. He danced just out of reach, the trees growing taller and taller the harder she struggled to reach him. ‘Fergus, no, please,_ no _!’ The more frantic she became, the harder it was to swing her sword, and the more her feet seemed to stick in the ground beneath her._

_'Why didn’t you save us, Pup?’ They were pouring out of the trees now, all half rotten, their eyes ripped out of their sockets. She was sobbing now, desperate not to look at them, still reaching for her brother._

_'Darling, where were you?’_

_'Rowena! Help me!’_

_'I’m cold, Auntie, I’m so cold…’_

_'No!’ she screamed. ‘No, no, no no—’_

Something long, wet, and slimy was attacking Rowena’s face, bathing her in a layer of slobber.

“Cormac, get off me,” she murmured, sitting up. She groaned, stretching out her sore muscles. Her back ached from spending all night lying on the ground. Her hound, however, barked happily and sat down next to her, lying his head in her lap. It had to have been the morning, as everyone was stirring awake around her. Still, in the mists of the Wilds, it was hard to tell when night ended and the day began.

All the same, Morrigan was already awake, rolling her cloak into her pack and brushing leaves from her hair. “Does it hurt, Alistair?” she asked, standing over the knight. “Knowing that a dog is more intelligent and better mannered than you will ever be?”

“Good morning to you, too, Morrigan,” Alistair muttered, stretching his back. “Did you have nice dreams about terrorizing small children?”

“My, you two really must be morning people,” Eruestan yawned, sitting up beside Rowena. “Oh, look, more mist. Who could have guessed?”

“Hey, out here, it’s either ‘mist’ or ‘dead’, I think we lucked out,” Alistair said. “Anyways, what’s for breakfast? More mushrooms?”

“Lothering is but two hours from here, we shall find a much better meal there,” Morrigan said. “If that is too long for you, Alistair, I have some tannis root in my pouch you can chew on. Normally it causes brain swelling, but seeing as you have none you should be fine.”

“Well, that was super uncalled for,” Alistair said. “And if I’m so stupid, why don’t you explain to me how you’re planning on paying for this food, huh? We haven’t even got a copper to our names.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Rowena said, pulling herself to her feet. She still felt harrowed by her nightmare. She hadn’t dreamt of anything like that since the attack on the castle, and the memory of it still took her breath away. Perversely, part of her had enjoyed it, despite the horrors she had seen. After all, it was the only way she was able to hear their voices. She stretched quickly, chasing the thoughts from her mind. “We could do some odd jobs, maybe?”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Eruestan said, standing up next to her. “Kill darkspawn for five silvers per corpse?”

“I’m sure we could at least ask for ten,” she said, grinning.

“We won’t be able to get anything if we stay here blabbering,” Morrigan said, picking up her rucksack and turning towards the trees in front of them. “Let us move on.”

Stretching again, Rowena walked forward with the rest of the group, still trying to clear her mind. The Wilds slowly became less and less barren further they walked, fir trees and bushes gradually replacing the gnarled trees that populated the deep south. The mists began to clear as well, replaced by the churning clouds overhead. Despite this, the air seemed to grow cleaner around them, and Rowena’s spirits improved considerably. Birds were chirping around them, and as they crossed a gently babbling stream she had to wonder what the area looked like in happier times, when the world wasn’t crumbling to pieces.

Another pleasant distraction was the catty back-and-forth that had struck up between Morrigan and Alistair. Already two people with their backgrounds would have a hard time seeing eye-to-eye; the knight and the witch seemed to be about two minutes from tearing each other to pieces. Rowena found the chatter comforting, however. Listening to the two of them talk distracted them from her own thoughts, chasing away the awful memories of her dream. By the time they reached the edge of the woods, her nightmare was all but forgotten.

They stood at the edge of the woods, taking their first look at Lothering. Rowena was unimpressed. It was a tiny village, nothing more than a small collection of houses nestled between two hills. Columns of smoke were rising from a small camp that had sprung up in front of the town, curling lazily into the air. The Blight clouds had yet to reach this far north, and for the moment Lothering was bathed in sunlight. Atop one of the hills was the local chantry, its golden spire shining in the morning sun.

“It’s much smaller than I expected,” she said. “Lothering’s well known in the rest of Ferelden, I thought there’d be something worth seeing.”

“If anything, it’s probably because Lothering’s the only thing around here for miles,” Alistair said. He pointed to a large, ruined stone structure that jutted off far into the horizon. “The Imperial Highway ends here. The Tevinters wanted to extend it all the way down to Ostagar, but Andraste kicked them out before they got the chance. Now Lothering’s all that’s left.”

“Not a big tourist spot, then?” Eruestan asked.

“The Wilds are a dangerous place,” Morrigan said. “Most prefer to keep their distance.”

“And yet you live inside them,” Rowena pointed out.

Morrigan looked up at the trees that surrounded them. “The Wilds are my home,” she responded quietly. “I am no more afraid of them than I am my mother.”

“So, like, quite a bit, then?” Alistair said.

She shot him a withering look and started walking down towards the village. “I do hope you rely on more than your wits in the heat of battle, Alistair, because otherwise we’re all doomed.”

“I have plenty of wit!” he protested, running up behind her. “I’ve got wit pouring out my ears!”

“Is that what that is? I thought it was earwax.”

“How long do you think before they start attacking each other?” Eruestan murmured in Rowena’s ear.

“Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t already,” she said. “I just hope…oh, wow…”

The smoke from the fires at the camp was clogging the air, making her eyes smart. From what she could tell, however, Lothering had descended into chaos. A choir of fear and suffering rang out from the town, reverberating with screams, shouts, and wails. For a moment, she put her hand on her sword, suddenly unsure as to what lie in wait for them.

As they drew closer to the camp, though, Rowena was able to better understand what was going on. There were no darkspawn in Lothering, not yet, at least. Fear, however, was running rampant. Tents and wagons were crammed together senselessly, full of crying children and injured adults. Everywhere, people were running about, their eyes wild, unable to settle down in one place. Panic was in the air, the helpless terror that seemed as much a symptom of the Blight as the clouds rolling in from the south. Rowena coughed and squinted her eyes against all the dust and smoke, trying to make some sense of what she was seeing. “What’s going on?”

“People are terrified,” Alistair said, staring out on the crowd. “The horde’s approaching and they don’t know what to do.”

“You should be right at home, then,” Morrigan quipped.

Alistair scowled at her. “Let me guess, Morrigan, this is all just a desperate cry for attention because you never had friends while you were growing up?”

“This is no act, Alistair,” she snapped. “I could be perfectly pleasant if I wanted to be. Unfortunately for your case, the same does not work for intelligence.”

“Oh, cut it out, you two,” Rowena said, walking ahead. The banter was a lot less enjoyable when everything was falling to pieces around them. “Let’s just find a way to get some supplies and figure out where we’re going from here.”

She and Cormac led the way into the village, which lay just beyond the tents of the camp. Her hound seemed agitated by all the activity, looking back and forth between the crowds and growling slightly. Rowena couldn’t blame him; everyone had her a little spooked as well. Peering out the windows of their farmhouses, the villagers were glaring at them suspiciously, drawing their children away and closing their shutters. “Hmph,” Morrigan muttered. “Typical. The only people in the whole country that could save them, and they turn their backs. This village almost deserves what’s coming for it.”

“How can you say that?” Alistair snapped. “They’re afraid for their lives! Everyone would react the same way if they had to face something like this.”

“You do not,” Morrigan pointed out. “Neither did I or my mother.”

Alistair frowned at her. “We’re different. We’re Wardens, and you’ve got magic to help you.”

Morrigan shrugged. “The best of mankind should not be an excuse for the worst. Their weakness will only get them killed.”

“You’d be surprised, Morrigan,” Alistair said coldly. “I know Ferelden, and you can always count on the kindness of strangers here.”

Morrigan didn’t seem to have much to say to that, and for a while they fell back in silence. Lothering was not a large village, just a handful of small houses and stores nestled underneath the chantry on the hill. It was quieter in the village than in the camp, with hardly anyone out in the streets. For some reason, this felt even eerier than the chaos from before; it was almost as if everyone had already abandoned the town.

“Look,” Eruestan said suddenly, pointing to a shop across the way. “A general store. We can probably find supplies there, right?”

Alistair nodded, frowning slightly. “It’s odd, though – shouldn’t there be more people? You’d think everyone would be clamoring for more food and gear.”

“Maybe no one knows it’s here?” Rowena asked, walking forward. The door was locked when she pushed on it; she pounded on the wood, further struck by the strange impression that the village was empty.

A moment later, however, an old woman with a bulbous nose cracked the door open. “Go away,” she hissed. “We’re not open.”

“Yes, hello, serah, sorry to bother you,” Rowena said quickly. “We just wanted to grab some supplies and be on our way.”

“Get back!” she said again. “We’re not selling to refugees!”

Morrigan turned to Alistair. “I’m sorry, what was that about the kindness of strangers again?”

“Not selling to refugees?” Alistair asked, ignoring the witch. “Why’s that?”

“We need our own supplies to last if we’re going to survive this Blight!” the woman snapped, struggling against Rowena’s arm to get the door closed. “You lot can hang for all I care!”

“Survive the Blight?” Eruestan said in alarm. “You’re not planning on staying here, are you?”

“What I do is my own business!” she yelled, pushing at the door with all her might. “Now move on, get!”

“Serah, please,” Rowena said calmly, pushing back on the door without breaking a sweat. “You probably can’t tell, but we’re actually Grey Wardens, and if you need any help—”

Much to her surprise, Rowena’s words seemed to have the opposite effect of what she intended. Instead, the woman squawked in fear and started pushing even harder against the door. “Get away from my store!” she shrieked, slamming into the entrance with her shoulder. “I don’t want any trouble!”

Rowena finally stepped away and let her close the door, more out of shock than anything else. “What was that about?” she asked the others. “What did she mean about not wanting any trouble?”

“Couldn’t you tell, Rowena?” Morrigan asked. “She was just being kind to strangers.”

Alistair shot her a black look. “You’re a terrible person, Morrigan.”

“Scathing,” the witch said. “You have cut me to the core.”

Eruestan turned to Rowena. “So what do we do?” he asked, frowning. “What if everyone else here is planning to stay like she is?”

Rowena bit her lip. “Let’s see if there’s anything at the chantry?” she offered. “That might be our best bet for a bit of hospitality.”

“Don’t say a word, Morrigan,” Alistair said quickly, cutting her off. “We get it, ok? Life sucks.”

“Just so long as you admit it,” Morrigan said sweetly, following Rowena up the hill.

The walk to the chantry was pleasant, letting them get a breath of fresh air and enjoy the sun. As they approached, however, it became clear that they weren’t the only ones with that idea. A crowd of people had gathered around the chantry’s doors, clamoring around a large wagon full of food and supplies.  

“Well, look at that, Morrigan,” Alistair said smugly, pointing at the cart. “What did I tell you? At least the Chantry is able to—oh, for the love of the Maker!” He sighed in frustration as a merchant jumped out of the cart to push a young woman violently away from his wares.

“Back off, you lot!” he shouted, yelling at the small crowd gathered around him. The girl, a dark-haired woman no older than Rowena, fell back to her two brothers, two burly young men who were glaring back up at the cart. “You’ll pay my prices or you’ll not get anything at all!”

“You’re asking too much!” the young woman cried. “How can you charge such high prices at a time like this? Think of what you’re doing!”

“Oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing, Bethany,” the oldest brother said, a tall man carrying a solid broadsword. “Nothing like a Blight to scrape a little extra coin off the masses.”

“Bugger off, Hawke!” the merchant shouted, shaking his fist. “Your family wouldn’t have the money if I gave it to you for free!”

“Stay where you are, Garrett!” someone shouted from inside the crowd. A young Chantry priestess broke through to the wagon, a look of indignant fury on her face. She had short red hair and spoke with a slight Orlesian accent. “What is the meaning of this?” she snapped at the merchant. “These people are fighting for their lives, and you’re trying to make a profit off their backs? How can you be so heartless?”

            “You’re about to be toothless if you don’t back off!” he yelled over the crowd. “I have the supplies, and I get to decide how much I’m charging! I don’t care what the Chantry has to say about it!”

The crowd roared in anger. Shouts of “Kill him!” rippled through it like a shockwave, and for a moment it seemed like they were about to descend on him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Rowena yelled, pushing her way through to the front. Barking fiercely at her side, Cormac began snarling at the small mob, making it shrink back in fear. “What’s going on here?”

The priestess glared at the merchant. “This monster’s been charging outrageous prices to profit off of everyone’s distress!”

“I’m just trying to make the best of an bad situation!” he protested. “If the prices are so awful, tell the people to stop buying from me!”

“They’re buying from you because they can’t buy anywhere else!” she shouted. “These people are fleeing from their homes and they need every copper they can save!”

He crossed his arms. “I’m merely practicing good business, is all.”

“He does have a point,” Morrigan said. “All of these wretched people would do the same if put in his position.”

“Man, you are just determined to be as unpleasant as possible, aren’t you?” Alistair said in disgust.

“Well, how much are you charging?” Rowena asked, trying to be fair. “Are the prices really that high?”

“They’re great prices!” he said. “A sovereign for some rope, five for a tent, ten for a cartwheel! All reasonable.”

Rowena paused. She suddenly realized that she had no idea how much any of that actually was. “Oh, well, if that’s the case…”

“What are you talking about?” Alistair said, horrified. “Rowena, those are terrible prices!”

“Oh!” She blushed. “I’ve never really had to buy anything before…”

The merchant groaned. “Don’t tell me you lot are siding with this bitch, too. Either you help me clear this crowd out or I’m leaving town!”

Rowena was beginning to get a little irritated. “You know, you’re pretty cocky for one man alone in a supply wagon.” She put her hand on her sword, and Cormac began to bark menacingly at her side.

The merchant, however, merely rolled his eyes. She blinked, suddenly feeling a little silly. “Like no one’s ever threatened to beat my ass before,” he said. “That’s it, I’m heading out – this town can rot for all I care!”

“That’s not very reasonable,” Eruestan said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him, making the elf flush. “You have a giant market here,” he pointed out. “And Lothering’s the only village for miles. You’d make more money trying to compromise with the people here instead of heading for the hills on your own.”

The man stared at him for a moment. “Huh,” he said. “A good idea from an elf. Who would have thought?”

“There’s no need to talk like that,” the priestess said sharply before Rowena could react. “And he has a point. Can’t you just work with us? With reasonable prices, more people would buy from you.”

The man spat and nodded, his scowl deepening. “All right, I’ll lower the prices – but not for you, Red,” he said, pointing at Rowena. “I don’t respond well to bullying.”

She opened her mouth to yell back at him. Before she could, however, someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Thanks for your help,” the tall young man from earlier said. “We’re trying to get out of here, and without these supplies we wouldn’t have made it.”

Rowena nodded and smiled. “Just trying to help out,” she said. “Glad we could be of service.”

“That’s refreshing to hear – not many people are talking like that anymore.” He looked up at his sister, who was glowering at the merchant as he filled her sack with food. “Listen, we’re planning on hitching a ride out of here on to Gwaren – you’d be welcome to join us, if you like.”

His brother scoffed behind him. “There you go, playing the big hero again.”

“Ignore him, he hasn’t learned to play nicely with others yet,” the man sighed. “But the invitation is open.”

Rowena glanced at the others. “Thank you, but I think we have to decline,” she said. “We have business of our own to take care of here.”

“Fair enough,” he said, shrugging. His sister walked back to them, her sack now full of food and supplies. “We don’t have much to repay you with – do you want anything to eat?”

Her stomach started growling, but Rowena shook her head. “You need it more than we do,” she said. “We’ll figure it out on our own.”

“All right, then.” The man bowed abruptly before turning to leave. “Maker watch over you!”

“And you as well!” she called back. She smiled to herself as she watched them leave, happy to have been able to help.

Morrigan, however, seemed less thrilled. “Well, I am glad all that effort yielded so much reward,” she said drily. “What an act for the tales. I didn’t realize we were going to defeat the darkspawn by mediating everyone’s petty problems.”

“A Grey Warden’s duties are vague and mysterious, Morrigan,” Rowena said. “Who knows how we’ll be needed in the future?”

A group of soldiers at the back of the supply line turned around abruptly. “Did you jus’ say ‘Grey Wardens’?” one of them slurred. There was a heavy stench of ale on his breath. “They’s the ones that killed the king, you know.”

Rowena stared at him blankly for a second. “No, they didn’t.”

Silence fell over the crowd as they slowly became aware of the stand-off taking place between the Wardens and the soldiers. “Rowena, drop it, he’s drunk,” Eruestan said nervously.

She ignored him and got in the soldier’s face. “Who told you that about the Wardens?”

“No one needed to tell me!” he said angrily. “I was at Ostagar! I saw what they did! If Teyrn Loghain hadn’t told us to turn back…”

“Teyrn Loghain is a liar and a traitor,” Rowena snarled, Cormac growling beside her. The crowd had started pressing itself against the wagon, unwilling to get involved but still determined to get their supplies.

Now all the soldiers had turned towards them. “What did you just say, you bitch?” a second one said, drawing his mace.

Eruestan sighed. “Oh, here we go…”

“She said that he’s a liar and a traitor!” Alistair snapped, stepping up beside her. “And don’t call her that!”

One of the soldiers gasped. “Alistair?” she asked. The knight looked at her in surprise, both of their mouths open in shock. “ _Oy_!” she shouted. “It’s them! It’s the Grey Wardens!”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, chasing some of the stragglers away in fear. Sensing the coming fight, Rowena drew her sword, the steel gleaming in the sunlight.

“Everyone, please, calm down,” someone said. They turned to see the Orlesian Chantry sister approach them, hands clasped behind her back. “Now is not the time for all this fighting! We’re all under pressure from the Blight, let us not succumb to petty violence and infighting!”

“Can it, Sister,” the woman growled. “These traitors have to pay for what they’ve done!”

Rowena and Alistair readied their weapons, while Eruestan and Morrigan both sighed and charged spells in their hands. Several people around them screamed. “You want a fight, come and get one!” Rowena yelled.

The first soldier took a step forward with his sword drawn. Before he could attack, though, there was a loud crash, and suddenly he dropped to the floor. For a moment, everyone stared at him in confusion. They then looked up to see the Chantry sister drop the broken jug she had been carrying and turned to face the rest of the soldiers. Their faces quickly darkening, the soldiers charged at her. One man swung his mace at her, but to Rowena’s shock she danced out of the way and kneed him in the groin, knocking him out with a swift elbow to the temple. The crowd screamed again and began to scatter. The priestess, however, ignored the chaos and slammed one man’s head into her knee, breaking his nose. There was a flash of steel from behind her; spinning out of the way, she dodged the woman’s blow, grabbed her arm, and with a quick lurch snapped it in half. Throwing the screaming soldier aside, she kicked the last man in the temple, stunning him and knocking him to the ground.

The area around the chantry was now empty, save for the merchant who was cowering inside his cart. The Wardens were staring at her slack-jawed, unable to believe what they had just seen. Standing up straight, the sister brushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled at them, panting slightly. “Sorry that took so long,” she said brightly. “It’s really hard to do all that in a skirt.”

No one knew how to answer that. “Priestesses have gotten very violent since I was last in a chantry,” Alistair said in awe.

“Oh, please, most of us wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she said dismissively, stepping over one of the unconscious soldiers. “And besides, I’m not a priestess. I’m nothing but a lay sister of the Chantry – or, at least, I used to be.”

“Used to be?” Eruestan asked, frowning.

She looked confused. “Well, the soldiers said you are Grey Wardens, yes? You fight the Blight?”

“Yes,” Rowena said, still convinced she was having a very particular kind of stroke. “Your point?”

Her face brightened up. “Well, then, I’m coming with you!”

Eruestan glanced over at Rowena, looking about as enthusiastic as she felt. “That’s, um, awfully eager of you…”

She shrugged. “I really wouldn’t call it that. I’ve just been waiting for a sign – ever since I had my vision from the Maker, I’ve been trying to find the best way to leave Lothering. Now you’re here, though, and I know what I have to do!”

The group stared at her for a moment. “You just get crazier with each passing moment, don’t you?” Alistair said.

She glared at him, her face clouding. “I am not crazy!” she snapped in a tone that made Rowena think that this wasn’t the first time she’d had to defend herself. “I know it sounds like I am, but I’m not! The Maker came to me in a dream, I know he did! He told me I needed to fight the Blight, and now I know that I’m supposed to go with you!”

“Well, this has been nice,” Eruestan said, giving her a very forced smile. “I think, though, we’re gonna have to take a hard pass.”

“Well, not so fast,” Rowena said slowly, staring at the pile of knocked-out soldiers at the sister’s feet. “Maybe a little divine intervention would be useful at this point.”

Eruestan shot her a pained look and then turned back to the sister. “Do you mind if we talk about this first?” She shook her head, and the four of them immediately went into a huddle.

“Ok, so she’s obviously crazy,” Eruestan began.

“But she’s also a very good fighter,” Rowena countered. “She took out all of those guys by herself in like thirty seconds.”

“Yeah,” Eruestan said, “but she’s also _crazy_.”

“I agree with Eruestan, the woman is a lunatic,” Morrigan said. “Why on Earth would you want her to travel with us?”

“I mean, look at that,” Alistair said, pointing to the pile of unconscious soldiers. “And sure, she’s probably crazy, but it’s more a nice, peppy crazy than a ‘Watch out, I’m going to kill you in your sleep’ crazy.”

“Are we really considering this?” Eruestan hissed. “We don’t even know her name!”

“Good point.” Rowena lifted her head and looked back at the sister. “Excuse me, what’s your name, exactly?”

The sister started. “Oh, yes, how silly of me – my name is Leliana. Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks.” Rowena returned to the huddle. “See? At least she’s polite! And besides, how bad could someone named Leliana be?”

“Very,” Morrigan said.

“Exactly,” Eruestan said. “Plus, I feel like we’re not addressing the very frightening fact that she’s claiming she can speak to the Maker, which, you know, is very frightening.”

“You know, when I was in Templar training one of the other recruits claimed he could talk to snakes,” Alistair said. “He used to spend hours out on the training grounds, rolling around and hissing.”

The group paused for a moment. “Was that an argument for or against?” Eruestan asked.

He shrugged. “More like just an anecdote.”

“How insightful,” Morrigan hissed.

“Well, regardless of snakes or the Maker, I’m for Leliana,” Rowena said. “We need as many good fighters as we can find.”

“I agree,” Alistair said.

Eruestan took a deep breath. “She did do something very impressive just now,” he said to Morrigan. “And if she’s right, and the Maker’s on our side…”

Morrigan scowled and broke the huddle. “Mother should have left you all on that tower to die.”

“All right, Leliana, you’re in,” Rowena said, turning back to her. “ _Bienvenue au groupe_.”

“Oh yay, you even speak Orlesian!” she said, squealing so loudly Cormac started whining. “I promise I won’t let you down! This is wonderful news!”

“I want you all to remember this moment,” Morrigan said, “for I know you’re going to regret it.”

“I have to run and grab my things,” Leliana said, brushing the hair out of her face. “Oh, and I’ll have to tell Revered Mother Agnes I’m leaving, I hope she doesn’t mi—” She stopped mid-sentence and suddenly gave them a very crafty look. “Tell me, how open would you be to bringing someone else along, too?”

“Nope,” Eruestan said quickly. “No more Chantry sisters.”

“Oh, no, silly,” she laughed, touching his arm, “I am not talking about another sister! I mean someone completely different! Come on! I’m sure you’ll love him!”

She led them around the back of the chantry to a small public square, full of empty stocks and pillories. Sitting in a tall cage in the center of the square, however, was a man unlike any Rowena had ever seen before.

She stared at the cage before her, unsure of what to think. “What…what is it?”

“He’s a Qunari,” Eruestan said in awe. “I’ve never heard of them being on Fereldan shores before…”

Rowena eyed the man warily, afraid of antagonizing him. Even sitting down, she could tell that he was at least eight feet tall, with dark, silvery skin and pale white hair. His eyes were cold and stony, staring back at her dully. Every part of the man was covered in bulging muscles; he looked like a living war machine.

“He’s huge,” she murmured, stepping away from him.

“Qunari are known to be great warriors,” Eruestan said. “A little intense, though.”

“Kindly do not speak of me as if I were not here,” the giant said, staring indifferently at them. They all jumped away and blushed.

“Sorry!” Eruestan said. “I’ve just never seen someone quite so tall…or frightening…”

“Why is he in the cage?” Alistair asked, frowning.

Leliana shrugged. “Revered Mother Agnes said he killed a farmer and his family up north. I’m assuming that’s why.”

The knight stared at her. “And you thought it’d be a good idea to have him travel with us?”

Leliana pointed to his arms. “Look at him! He’s terrifying! Besides, he’s always seemed very contrite to me…”

Rowena sighed and looked back at him. “Well, what exactly did you do?” she asked. “Was it as bad as she said?”

The Qunari grunted. “Yes.”

She furrowed her brow. That wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. “Er…how many people did you kill, exactly, then?”

“Eight.” He paused. “Eleven if you count children.”

“Sweet Maker,” Alistair squeaked.

“That’s awful!” Rowena cried, taking another step back. “He’s a monster!”

The man nodded, his face still perfectly expressionless. “I agree.”

“Ok, now I’m confused,” Alistair murmured to Leliana.

She shrugged again. “He’s been like that since he got here. Cooperative, guilt-stricken, and not the least bit resistant. He’s even refused to eat or drink.”

“You mean you didn’t fight this at all?” Alistair asked in shock.

“No.”

“Why not?” the knight asked.

“I didn’t want to.”

“So you’ve been standing here without resisting since you got here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The Qunari didn’t answer him. “It’s like talking to a tree,” Alistair said in wonder.

“How long have you been here?” Rowena asked, trying to take over.

He glanced at her. “20 days.”

“20 days?” Eruestan asked in disbelief. “20 days without food and water? How did you possibly survive that?”

The man squinted at him. “Some of us aren’t weak.”

“Oh, I like this one!” Morrigan said as Eruestan blushed. “If you all get her, I vote you let me have him!”

Eruestan sighed. “What do you two think?”

“Scary,” Alistair said. “Also, a child killer. I’m out.”

“Well, at the same time, at least he feels bad about killing the kids?” Rowena said. “Although, to be fair, I’m not sure if that actually makes anything better – but if we’re letting Leliana in because she can fight, we should definitely let him come along too, shouldn’t we?”

 “Our job here is getting weirder and weirder,” Eruestan said. “But fine, you’re right. I vote he can come, too. So what’s your name, then?”

The man stared coldly at him.

“Ok…” Eruestan said slowly. “Leliana, what’s his name?”

“We aren’t sure,” she said. “He has only ever told us ‘Sten’, but one of the Templars said that’s only a title.”

“Well, we’re going with that, then,” Rowena said. “Sten, we’d like you to join our little group here.”

He stared out ahead of them. “No.”

“I—” She blinked and looked back at him. “Wait, what?”

“I am not here to get involved in whatever little scheme you have planned,” the man said, sitting down. “I am here to do penance for my crimes.”

“And your penance is sitting in here until you die?” Eruestan asked.

“Yes.”

“But that doesn’t make sense!” Leliana said, walking up to him. “Penance comes from action, not reflection!”

“These are teachings from your Chantry,” the Qunari said. “The Qun does not hold such beliefs.”

“I am sure that even the Qun believes there is more you can do to make up for your crimes, Sten,” she replied evenly.

“Such as?”

“Such as helping us defeat the Blight,” Eruestan said.

Sten stared at them for a very long time, then sighed. “If that is your goal, then I must assume that you are the Grey Wardens?”

“That’s correct,” Rowena said proudly.

He raised an eyebrow. “The Qunari have heard many tales of your order’s prowess. It appears those tales were false.”

“Oh, I _really_ like him!” Morrigan said, smiling gleefully.

Sten stood up, his massive body towering over the rest of them. “If it’s the Blight you’re up against, then I will join you. You will clearly need my help.” His hands rested against the iron bars of his cage. “Your first challenge, however, will be getting me out of this cage.”

“Oh, that part’s easy!” Leliana chirped. “We’ll be back in a minute, Sten!”

She led the group back around towards the side of the chantry, opening a gate that led to a small garden. “You all wait for me here,” she said firmly. “I’ll grab my things, and then I’ll take you to Mother Agnes.”

Rowena waited for her to disappear inside the cloisters before collapsing against a wall. “Maferath’s bleeding knickers, what have we done?”

“At least we’ll be in for some great conversations,” Alistair said, examining a nearby rosebush.

“Oh, yeah, just sparkling,” Eruestan said. “One never shuts up, and the other never speaks.”

“I have no pity,” Morrigan said. “I warned you all that you would live to regret this.”

“Look, at least they both can fight,” Rowena reasoned. “And, on the plus side, at least the two of them only _might_ want to kill us, compared to the rest of the country which _definitely_ wants to.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Eruestan sighed, leaning against the fence.

The sound of yelling picked up from nearby. “What’s going on?” Rowena asked.

A lone man was shambling past, a swarm of flies buzzing around his head. “The king is dead!” he shouted, shaking his fists at the sky. “The beasts have torn our armies apart! We are all doomed! The end of times has come!”

“It wouldn’t be a disaster without the loonies, would it?” Alistair said dreamily.

“I think we could do without,” a nearby refugee muttered, stooping to get water from the chantry’s well. “People like that are only going to cause a panic.”

“That’s fair enough,” Alistair said. He furrowed his eyebrows and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, though, do I…Maker’s breath, Ser Donall? What are you doing here?”

“Alistair!” The two men ran towards each other and embraced. Rowena and Eruestan exchanged confused glances, while Morrigan simply looked bored. “This is wonderful! I was sure you’d died at the battle!”

“No, we survived,” Alistair replied. “Teyrn Loghain tried his best, though.”

The knight looked around nervously. “I’d be careful who you say that to,” he said. “Most of the men here think Loghain saved them from a trap at Ostagar – he’s blamed the Grey Wardens for leading the king to his death.”

“It’s a lie,” Alistair spat, his eyes dark. “How does he think he’ll get away with this?”

“He’s Teyrn Loghain,” Ser Donall said. “Trust me, though, if Arl Eamon were well, he’d set him straight.”

Alistair frowned. “If he were well? Is something wrong?”

“Haven’t you heard?” the knight asked in surprise. “Arl Eamon has been struck ill by a terrible disease that we can find no cure for. Even magic hasn’t been able to cure it.”

“Oh no,” Alistair said, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s…that’s awful…”

“We’ve turned to the Maker now,” Ser Donall murmured. “Or, more precisely, Our Lady Savior. All the knights of Redcliffe have been sent out to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. We hope that Andraste’s ashes will be able to heal him where all other spells could not.”

“The Urn of Sacred Ashes?” Eruestan said, an eyebrow raised. “That’s just a myth, though. You don’t really think you’ll find it, do you?”

“I can’t say,” the knight said. “All I know is that it’s our last hope. But with the Blight coming…” He shook his head. “I need to keep moving. I don’t want to be stuck here when the horde arrives. Alistair, take this.” He pulled out a small pouch of money from his pocket. “I’ve already got more than enough to last me, and you need to get out of here, too.”

Alistair grabbed the money pouch and bowed. “Thank you, Ser Donall. This means a lot.”

“It’s the least I can do,” the knight said, smiling. “Maker watch over you.”

“And you!” Rowena said, bowing as he left.

“Arl Eamon is ill,” Alistair said faintly. “Oh, this is bad, this is very, very bad.”

“How do you know so many people from Redcliffe?” Rowena asked.

He hesitated. “I, uh, I was raised in the castle there for a bit.”

“Oh!” She frowned. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you.” He looked down at the pouch he was holding. “Does anyone want to keep track of this? This much money makes me feel a little woozy.”

“I’ll take it,” Eruestan said, pocketing it. “I have a pretty good head for figures.”

The door to the cloisters opened again, and Rowena blinked in surprise. Leliana’s chantry robes had been replaced by a sleek set of leather armor, a polished bow strapped across her back. “Nice!” she said appreciatively, noting a wicked-looking pair of hunting knives dangling from her waist.

“Oh, thank you!” Leliana beamed. “But let’s hurry! I’m sure Mother Agnes is very busy.”

She took them into the chantry, which had started to fill with people again. Forcing their way through the crowd, Rowena couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for all the people they couldn’t help. This wasn’t supposed to happen; the Blight wasn’t supposed to reach this far north. _We will stop it_ , she thought. _We’ll help them all in the end._

Leliana led them to an office at the back, where an old woman was staring blankly at the back wall, slowly pulling out strands of her own hair. “Mother Agnes?” Leliana asked uncertainly.

The old woman started and looked up at her. “Why, Sister Leliana? What in the name of the Maker are you wearing?”

“Revered Mother, I’ve come to tell you that I’m leaving,” Leliana said. “I have been asked to fight with the Grey Wardens.” Rowena thought her having been “asked” was a bit rich, but nodded at the priestess all the same.

“I…well, this is all very overwhelming,” Mother Agnes said, putting a hand on her chest. “My, everything is just happening at once around here…where _did_ I put my prayer beads...Are you sure you wish to leave like this, Sister Leliana? Elder Miriam and I are organizing an evacuation as we speak, you’ll be well taken care of.

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “You remember what we discussed together?”

“Ah.” The priestess smiled sadly and pressed a tired hand into Leliana’s palm. “Yes, of course. So, you’ve found a way out, then. Go in peace, Leliana. If the Maker will shine his light on you, you must spread it to the rest of the world, especially in this time of darkness.”

“Thank you, Your Reverence,” Leliana said, bowing her head.

Rowena stepped forward. “We’d also like to take charge of the Qunari Sten who’s locked in the cage outside the village,” she said. “We have reason to believe that he’d be an ideal person to have fighting on our side.”

Mother Agnes frowned. “Oh, no, no, I don’t know about that… I’d rather not see him released.”

“Oh, Mother Agnes, please!” Leliana cried. “He’s been so cooperative since he’s gotten here, I’m sure he wouldn’t do anyone any harm!”

“My sweet child, he’s killed eleven innocent people! He’s a horrible threat to everyone around him!” She tutted and patted Leliana’s hand. “Are you _sure_ you want to join these Wardens? They must have very clouded judgment if they intend on letting such a beast journey with them.”

“Where to even begin…” Morrigan muttered.

Eruestan stepped forward a bit timidly. “I don’t mean to interrupt, Revered Mother, but isn’t it a good thing that Sten—er, the Qunari, is dangerous? If we’re to defeat this Blight, we need all the dangerous people we can find to fight it. That’s why we’ve recruited Sister Leliana, and that’s why we like to recruit this man.”

She frowned, then sighed and pulled open a drawer in her desk. “Oh, fine. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but here you are.” She handed a small iron key to Leliana. “Oh, the world’s gotten so _strange_ lately…”

“Thank you, Revered Mother,” Leliana said. “Would you like this back once we’re finished?”

“Hm? Oh, no, my child – I don’t think we’ll need it anyways.” She smiled absently. “Maker watch over you, my dear.”

“And you as well,” Leliana said quietly. As they left, she wiped a tear from her eye and looked up, blinking furiously. “Come on, let’s get back to Sten. I’m sure he’s getting anxious without us.”

If the Qunari was, he betrayed no sign of it once they returned to the cage. He remained emotionless even after exiting his cage and eating his first meal in three weeks, a stew hastily purchased from the local tavern. He even managed to look faintly disgusted as the others gorged themselves on their own portions.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have any supplies for you at the moment,” Rowena said through mouthfuls of food as the giant calmly ate his meal. “Once we find a proper blacksmith, our first priority will be weapons and armor for you. Until then…how good’s your hand-to-hand?”

Sten stared up at her darkly, slowly chewing a piece of meat.

“Right…well, great then!” She turned to the rest of the group. “All right, unless there’s another person to recruit in Lothering, I suggest we figure out where we want to go from here.”

Alistair finished lapping the gravy out of his bowl, then wiped his hands on his tunic and pulled out a map of Ferelden. “Ok, so we have treaties with the nobles of the Bannorn, the mages, the dwarves, and the Dalish elves. That means our options are basically Redcliffe” (he pointed to a dot in the center of Ferelden) “The Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold” (a dot just to the north of Redcliffe) “Orzammar” (a dot far to the west of Ferelden) “or the Brecilian Forest” (a dot in the southeast). “So, where to?”

“Going to Orzammar now might be dangerous,” Leliana said. “You have to go through the same mountain pass to get to Orlais, and I’ve taken it many times. With the autumn snows about to fall, we could get trapped in the Frostbacks. It would be safer to wait until the beginning of the new year when the winter becomes milder.”

“The same is true for the Dalish,” Morrigan said. “Mother says they are impossible to find in the fall, but they hold their clan council in the spring. ‘Twould be much easier to find them then.”

“So, Redcliffe or the mages it is, then!” Alistair said.

“Well, isn’t Arl Eamon supposed to be ill?” Eruestan said quickly. Rowena noticed that he looked remarkably uncomfortable. “Maybe it’d be best to get to him before he gets any worse.”

Alistair shrugged. “I’m not complaining. Redcliffe sound good to everyone, then?” There was a general grunt of agreement. “Great! So Redcliffe it is, then!”

“Oh, this is exciting!” Leliana said. “A group of heroes on a mission to save the world! It’s like being in a tale!”

Morrigan sighed. “Lovely. We managed to find a female Alistair.”

Rowena couldn’t help but smile. Enjoying the last bit of rest before the long road ahead, she felt in her heart that Leliana was right. The journey ahead would be rough, but they would win in the end. She knew they would.


	15. Father and Daughter

Teyrn Loghain was staring at the ceiling, his heart pounding for the first time in decades. The rafters above him seemed about to crash down on his head, the walls twisting and warping in the flickering light coming from the fireplace.

He had seen her. She had come to him.

 _“Damn you, Loghain_ ,” she had hissed, tearing at her hair with her hands. _“Damn you for what you’ve done._ ”

He had tried to speak, to reach out to her, but his body had been frozen as if trapped in stone. _“_ _I trusted my son to you, Loghain_ ,” Rowan had screamed. _“You betrayed me_.”

“ _You don’t understand_ ,” he had tried to say. “ _The Orlesians—_ ”

She had spat in his face, the saliva burning like acid as it trailed down his cheek. The shock had jolted him awake, leaving him weak and paralyzed in his bed.

Loghain Mac Tir wasn’t a particularly religious man. Any faith he had had was snuffed out during the Occupation – no loving god could have let the empire do what it had done to his home and his family. While he still occasionally went to chantings in the royal chapel, that was more out of a sense of duty to his rank than actual belief. A different man might have thought that he had been visited by the dead; he, however, knew that it had just been a dream, that his mind had influenced the Fade and seen what it had wanted to see. That, however, didn’t bring him any comfort.

Had he dreamed of Cailan, he would have been fine. He could have even faced Maric and held his head high. But Rowan? Why had his mind chosen her? Hadn’t he always thought that Cailan was everything of his father, and nothing of his mother? Why torment himself with her face now?

“I did what I had to do,” he said to himself. “I did it for Ferelden.”

He sighed and stood up out of bed. He was in an inn in the central Bannorn, roughly three days away from Denerim. The innkeeper had given him the room free of charge, honored to have the Hero of River Dane as a guest. A small fire was burning in the stone fireplace near the bed, sending shadows flickering across the room. Loghain stood in front of it and stared at the embers, his bare chest still slightly heaving. A vague sense of doubt was building in his stomach. Had he done the right thing? He could still see the look on Rowan’s face, the hatred she had held in her eyes. He had betrayed the son of the only woman he’d ever loved. He had helped kill the last of the Theirin line—after all, both of Maric’s sons had died at Ostagar, even if the country would only mourn the elder. And as for the country… Had he really acted in its best interest? He had left thousands of Fereldans to their deaths and destroyed the only order that could purportedly stop the Blight. He had done terrible, terrible things.

 _And yet_ , he thought, watching the embers crackle. He had justified the retreat by saying it was an unnecessary loss of men, but wasn’t that true in the end? If he had charged the field, he would have surely led his soldiers to their deaths. Better to draw back and fight the darkspawn another day on better ground. And who was to say that opportunity wouldn’t present itself? Ostagar had been mismanaged, there was no denying that – granted, he had ensured that himself, but wasn’t that just further proof that he could rout the horde in better circumstances? He wasn’t even entirely convinced that this was a proper Blight – there was an alarming amount of darkspawn, true, but without an archdemon the Grey Wardens wouldn’t be needed at all. And as for Cailan…there he needed to strengthen his resolve. He may have watched him grow from a child to a man, but the boy had been an idiot, unfit to rule Ferelden. The king would have put the Bannorn back under the yoke of Orlais; he had needed to die.

There was a knock at the door that drew him out of his thoughts. A moment later, Ser Cauthrien opened the door.

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace,” she said, bowing. “But Arl Howe’s just arrived in camp.”

Loghain grunted and nodded, still staring at the fire. “Send him in.”

A moment later the arl walked in, dropping to one knee in the doorway. “Your Grace,” he murmured, eyes to the ground.

“Arl Howe,” Loghain said, turning around. He grabbed a fur robe lying on a nearby table and draped it over himself. “You took your time getting here from Highever. Did Bryce and Eleanor give you that much trouble?”

Howe blinked in surprise. “Oh! So you’ve heard about the events at Castle Cousland.”

“From the mouth of Rowena Cousland herself.” Howe started and rose to his feet. “Explain yourself, Rendon.”

“My lord, forgive me,” Howe murmured, face flushed. “Eleanor told me the girl had already been killed.”

“Of course she did,” Loghain said shortly. “The kitchens had an escape tunnel built in the back – Duncan told me that was how they fled the castle. Eleanor merely bought them the time they needed.”

“Damn her,” Howe spat. “I should have put that bitch’s head on a spike next to her traitor husband’s…”

“I don’t want to hear about what you did to them,” Loghain said harshly, his words stopping Howe cold. “What we say tonight will be the last we speak of them.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Howe said, bowing his head. “Though I assure you, had I any idea—”

Loghain cut him off with a look. “I gave you permission to end the Cousland line, Rendon, not lead a botched coup with plenty of witnesses.” He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “You were lucky, though. I sent Fergus Cousland on a suicide mission in the Wilds that he never came back from, and Lady Rowena died with the rest of the Grey Wardens at Ostagar. There’s no one else left to challenge you.”

Howe nodded. “Very well, Your Grace. What do you plan to do from here?”

“With the Couslands gone, most of the resistance from the Bannorn will have vanished. The only other challenger will be Eamon.” Loghain looked at Howe coldly. “I trust you won’t fail me a second time?”

“Of course not, my lord,” Howe said. “Both my men in Redcliffe have already sent me reports back. Eamon’s on his last leg, apparently.”

“Very well.” The teyrn suddenly had a slight headache – how many more old Fereldan families did he have to extinguish to keep the country free? “I ride for Denerim tomorrow. Follow me to the city – I’ve sent word to my daughter to prepare the Bannorn for war.”

“As you wish.” Howe bowed and turned to leave the room. “I shall leave you to your rest, Your Grace.”

“Thank you.” Loghain considered something. “Howe?” The arl turned around. “Send word to give Bryce and Eleanor Cousland a proper funeral. They deserve as much.”

Howe bowed stiffly and left the room. With a sigh, Loghain turned back to the fire. At least theirs would be two less faces to dream of.

* * *

  _Battle lost. Cailan dead._

The words had been echoing in Anora’s mind for hours as she sat by her fireplace, unable to stand. Her father’s note had come in the middle of the night, rousing her from her sleep. She was still in her nightgown, the note still in her hands. For the first time in her life, the queen had no idea what to do. Cry? Scream? Vomit? Madly, part of her wanted to laugh as well – though where that came from, she couldn’t tell.

_Battle lost. Cailan dead._

Cailan… Her entire body shivered, a long, slow chill that began in her feet and rattled her teeth. Cailan was her love, her partner, her oldest friend. As children, they’d fought dragons, climbed mountains, and dueled wizards, all in one afternoon. Then as they grew older, their feelings had blossomed with their hormones, and soon they were stealing kisses in the corridors, leaving each other love notes with their breakfasts. Marrying him had been as natural as waking up in the morning. He had become a part of her, just as she had become a part of him. And now…now he was gone. Cailan was dead. Her love was dead. Her prince, dead. Her king, dead. The king, dead, dead, dead…

“The king is dead,” she said suddenly. She jolted, blinking rapidly and rubbing her eyes. Something was stirring inside her, breaking through the shock – not grief, not yet, but rather a rush of fear. The king was dead. A horde of darkspawn was descending on the Bannorn. And the fate of the country rested entirely in her hands.

“Bloody fucking piles of flaming shite!” She leapt to her feet and knocked her chair aside, clutching at her hair. For a moment, the walls seemed to be caving in on her. Then the fear passed as suddenly as it came, and she was able to take a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to break now. Tempering her panic, she controlled her shaking hands to read the rest of her father’s message one more time.

_Anora,_

_Battle lost. Cailan dead. Grey Wardens betrayed us in attempt to seize power. If any survivors, Order to be arrested. Have retreated with army to the north – will return to Denerim. Have declared myself regent in your name in order to prevent civil war. Must rally the Bannorn – the darkspawn will loot in the south for the time being, but if left unchecked will overrun Ferelden by this time next year. Maker be with you._

_Father_

She lay the note down and frowned, her mind whirring. Something was not quite right. She looked back down at the letter, letting her eyes linger on “Grey Wardens betrayed us.” She furrowed her eyebrows and stared into the fire. Anora was of course aware of the history between the Order and the Fereldan crown. The war Sophia Dryden had waged with her Wardens for the throne had been a long, bloody one, not easily forgotten though it happened two centuries ago. Still… The queen thought back to Duncan, with his firm gaze and coolly determined demeanor. She had been queen for five years now, and throughout that time the Warden Commander had always treated every incident concerning the darkspawn with the utmost gravity. The idea that Duncan would prioritize anything over the darkspawn, especially during a Blight, was simply outlandish.

“So he’s lying to me,” she said calmly. Or, at the very least, he was lying to someone, in which case he was lying to everyone. There was a lot of ground to cover between Denerim and the Southern Bannorn; if the messenger had been captured, everything would have been exposed. Anora didn’t mind – Loghain was as skilled at subterfuge as he was at warfare, and she had long gotten used to having to guess at the meaning behind his words.

What, though, did this mean? Going after the Wardens during a Blight would only create confusion and panic throughout the country – history aside, everyone knew the Grey Wardens were the only ones capable of defeating an archdemon, after all. Why spread lies about them now, then? The only logical explanation would be that her father was searching for a scapegoat. And if he needed a scapegoat…

“No,” she said simply, eyes not blinking from the flame. Loghain had been King Maric’s closest friend, and Cailan had been the son he’d never had. The idea that the teyrn would betray him was ridiculous. Her father was the most loyal man she knew – he was almost as driven by his fidelity to the Crown as he was by his hatred of Orlais…

Suddenly, Anora could not move. Dully, her thoughts drifted back to a moment four months prior, in the middle of spring. She had been taking tea with Cailan in the palace gardens, enjoying the fresh air while he talked her ear off about war preparations. She had been about to suggest they discuss increasing Crown spending in the Alienage to appease the elves when her father had stormed in, waving papers about and raging about an apparent plan to bring in the Orlesian Grey Wardens. “I’ll not see you turn this country into another damn Orlesian colony!” he’d bellowed before storming off, throwing the papers in Cailan’s face. Getting the two of them to reconcile had taken a week and a half, by which time the war effort had sufficiently distracted them both. Cailan had agreed to call the Wardens off – however, she and Loghain had both known that orders had been sent to the border for them to wait in reserve should they be needed.

Was this enough for her father to kill her husband? Anora suddenly felt very cold despite the summer heat. Throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she walked over to her windows and stared out onto the sleeping city that lay beyond the palace walls. Her father was a very great man – the entire country knew that – but it was hard to deny that he had changed over the past few years. She had always credited it to the death of King Maric in a shipwreck, but that had perhaps been a pathetic attempt on her part to pretend that his fanatic hatred of Orlais would ease away with time. Unfortunately, the more time passed, the greater Loghain’s loathing had grown, sparking incidents with Orlesian diplomats that only a few carefully worded notes to Empress Celene had been able to fix. Before, his irrationality had only frightened her. Now, it might have killed her husband.

The dwarven clock on her mantel chimed four. She drew her shawl tighter and turned away from the window. In the end, she told herself, it did not matter what her father had or hadn’t done. In any case, she had to take him at his word. She picked up his message one last time, skimmed over its words, and then gently tossed it into the fire. The time for tears, mourning, and especially sleep would come later. Right now, her people needed her. Running her hands through her hair, she sat down at her desk and reached for a pen and parchment, quickly writing orders to the city quartermasters and the captain of the guards. She would remain like this well after sunrise, struggling to ignore the throbs of pain in her hands and in her heart.   


	16. Trouble in Redcliffe

The village they stopped in that morning was a tiny settlement along the road to Redcliffe, nothing more than a chantry, a tavern, and a small cluster of houses. After a week of sleeping in the woods and eating mushrooms and roots, however, even a hint of civilization was a welcome sight for all of them.

“Finally,” Rowena sighed in relief, dropping her rucksack in the small courtyard outside of the tavern. “Some real food – I thought I was going to scream if I saw another mushroom.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call what you eat here in Ferelden ‘real food’,” Leliana said, wrinkling her nose. “But at least we won’t have to brush as much dirt off of it as we normally do.”

Eruestan laughed. The past week had given them all a chance to get to know each other, and Leliana was by far the most personable of the new additions to the group. Granted, given her competition, that wasn’t much of a distinction – Sten had remained as taciturn as he had been in Lothering, while Morrigan only really seemed to be interested in mocking Alistair at every chance she got. Still, there was no denying that Leliana was fun to be around. She was always quick with a compliment and seemed to love chatting, even if just to fill the time. Her greatest talent, however, was her ability to tell a story. Their first night on the road, she had regaled them with tales from Orlais, putting them all to sleep with visions of shining palaces and noble chevaliers. Yet she had remained surprisingly reticent about her so-called vision, and any time they pressed her too hard about her past she quickly changed the subject. Nevertheless, she made for a very good travel companion – the best you could ask for in the middle of a Blight, at least.

“Well, I don’t care how much dirt is in it, I’m starving,” Alistair said, shrugging off his pack. He ruffled Cormac’s head and looked up at the sign on the tavern. “Fifteen coppers for a bowl of porridge – is that too much?”

Eruestan pulled out the money pouch and shook his head. “We still have more than enough left over from what Ser Donall gave us,” he said. “And hopefully Arl Eamon will give us supplies once we get to Redcliffe, anyways. How many porridges should I get us, then?”

Alistair and Leliana both exchanged a nervous look. “Maybe I should do that, Eruestan,” Alistair said, flushing slightly.

“Why?” Rowena asked, frowning. “Eruestan’s been carrying the money.”

“I know, it’s just…” The knight coughed awkwardly and scratched his head. “Leliana, do you want to jump in?”

“Eruestan might not get service because he’s an elf,” she finished, grimacing. “It’s disgusting, but it’s true.”

It was hard to tell who was more shocked, Eruestan or Rowena. “ _What_?” she yelled, her eyes flaring. “That’s ridiculous!”

“It is – but why are _you_ shocked, Rowena?” Leliana asked. “This can’t be the first time you’re hearing about this?”

“We didn’t treat elves like that at Highever!” she snapped as Eruestan felt his ears flush. “We had some common decency!”

“I know, I know, it’s awful,” Alistair said quickly. He looked over at Eruestan and winced. “I’m sorry – it can’t feel great to hear things like that. I just don’t want you to have to go through all that.”

“He won’t have to!” Rowena snapped, pulling out her sword. “I swear, do I have to smack _every_ person in this bloody country—”

“No, no, Rowena, it’s not worth it,” Eruestan said slowly, putting a hand on her arm. It was surreal, suddenly being considered lesser based on the shape of his ears. Still, there wasn’t much good getting arrested for it could do. “We’re already wanted as it is. If you go maiming everyone who doesn’t like elves, half the country will come looking for us. Alistair can go buy us whatever we need.”

She frowned and put her sword back in its sheath. “People are such shites.”

“I completely agree,” Leliana said, shaking her head as Eruestan passed Alistair the coin purse. “In fact, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go pray in the chantry for a moment – it’s been a while since I’ve spoken to the Maker, I need to clear my mind.”

“Funny she should go to the chantry now,” Sten said as she walked off. Everyone turned to him in surprise; it was the first full sentence he had said since they left Lothering. “Praying to end oppression when your whole society thrives on it.”

“I don’t know if we ‘thrive’ on it,” Rowena said carefully, sitting down in the courtyard. “And it’s not just Ferelden’s fault – elves are treated poorly everywhere…which is a really bad thing,” she added quickly, glancing at Eruestan.

Sten, however, shook his head. “Not in the Qun,” he said. “We view all races as equals.”

Eruestan smiled a little quizzically. He knew very little about the Qun. The Chantry and the Templars viewed the Qunari faith as the greatest heresy, and spreading the religion in Chantry-led lands was usually punishable by death. “Is that true, Sten?” he asked, sitting down next to Rowena. “Even ‘knife-ears’ and humans?”

“As groups, yes,” the Qunari said. “Individuals are judged by their own merit. A worthy elf will be ranked higher than a human.”

“How is something judged worthy, though?” Eruestan asked, intrigued.

Sten looked like he was regretting opening his mouth. “Everyone has a part to play in the Qun, depending on their strengths,” he said, crossing his arms. “Rank depends on what that role is, and how well it is performed. That is all.”

“That’s the way it should be!” Rowena exclaimed. “We could learn a lesson or two from you!”

“Learn a lesson from who?” Alistair asked, walking out of the tavern with a large pot of porridge and a bag of scraps for Cormac. “Here’s the money, Eruestan, he charged us a little extra for the scraps.”

“There you go, Cormy, breakfast!” Rowena cooed, throwing her hound a leg bone. “And we’re talking about the Qun – I’m thinking about converting.”

“Apparently there’s a lot more equality among the Qunari,” Eruestan explained as Alistair began passing out bowls. “Particularly between elves and humans.”

“Hey, that sounds great,” Alistair said. “I don’t know if it’d catch on down here, though – we fought three Exalted Marches against the Qunari, after all.”

Sten snorted to himself. “If you call that fighting, sure.”

“We did win, though,” Eruestan pointed out mildly.

The Qunari sent him a look that made him shiver. “For now.”

“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” Alistair said as he started digging into his bowl of porridge. “The Qunari might want to do a better job of spreading the word, though. The Chantry always told us that the Qun was all about tyranny and despotism and what have you, but from what you said it sounds like it’s the complete opposite.”

“Your Chantry also believes in an all-powerful god and his human fire-bride,” Morrigan said. “‘Tis hardly surprising that it spouts other bits of raving nonsense as well.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Leliana said, already back from the chantry. “I do _not_ recommend going into that chapel, the stained glass was simply _atrocious_ , I thought I was in Kirkwall.” She peered into the pot and sighed. “Porridge. Lovely.”

“Fereldan food can’t be _that_ bad, Leliana,” Eruestan said, handing her a bowl. “We’ve all managed to live off of it this long, at least.”

“That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing,” she said, muttering a quick prayer before starting to eat again. “This is nothing compared to what we have for breakfast in Orlais – soft sweet rolls, piles of fresh fruit, steaming hot teas…” She sighed dreamily and made a face at her porridge. “This does not quite compare, I’m afraid.”

“She’s right, Orlesian food is amazing,” Rowena admitted. “It must be hard for both of you, Leliana and Sten, being stuck down here so far away from home.”

The Qunari merely grunted and kept eating. Leliana, however, shot her a sly look. “At times, yes,” she said slowly. “But you know, my mother was Fereldan.”

“Really?” Eruestan asked in surprise.

She nodded. “I was born in Orlais, but she spent most of her life here. My whole life in the empire, everyone called me _la petite Féreldienne_ – ever since I’ve been here, I feel like I’ve been getting to know her and her culture.” She cleared her throat and shook her head. “Enough about me and Orlais, though – we need to eat up. Who knows what we’ll run into on the road.”

Eruestan and Rowena glanced at each other. Apparently everyone had chosen the same day to open up.

Alistair, however, was still shoveling porridge into his mouth. “You know, you’re a very mysterious person, Leliana,” he said, not looking up from the bowl.

She laughed quietly, a deep, throaty chuckle. “Quite a lot of people have told me that before, Alistair.”  

“See, that’s what I mean,” Alistair said through a mouth full of food. “Like, one minute you’re cracking skulls and talking about your hidden past, the next you’re singing the Chant of Light and going crazy over Rivaini lace.”

“ _Antivan_ lace, Alistair, don’t be tacky,” Leliana replied sharply. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”

He swallowed loudly and wiped the porridge from his chin. “I know, I know, I’m uncouth. Still, though, I’m a little confused. How did someone like you end up in a chantry in the middle of nowhere?”

“The Maker brings us all to mysterious places,” she said, perhaps a little primly. “After all, I could say the same about you. You were to become a Templar, weren’t you? What happened there?”

Alistair scoffed. “I joined the Grey Wardens, thank the Maker.”

“Now that’s very mysterious,” Leliana said, her eyes sparkling. “You clearly aren’t very religious – so why train to be a Templar at all, then? Does a tortured past hide behind those innocent eyes?”

Alistair looked like he had been struck about the head. “Er…maybe this is better for another time…”

Leliana smiled and daintily ate a spoonful of porridge. “Yes, I agree with you totally.”

There was an exasperated groan to their side. “No, no, _no_ , this is _my_ food!” Morrigan cried, pulling her bowl away from Cormac’s prowling nose. “Rowena, if you cannot control your mutt I shall enchant his mouth shut!”

“It just means he likes you, Morrigan,” Rowena teased, standing up and grabbing his collar. The hound bayed mournfully and kept pushing towards the bowl. “What’s wrong with a few more friends?”

“I believe this is one friend I could do without,” the witch grumbled. “Take him away!”

Grinning, Rowena pulled him back harder, only to accidentally crash into Alistair, who had gotten up to grab more food. Taken aback, he fell over, knocking over the cauldron as well. The group gasped and leapt to their feet as porridge spilled over the ground. “Oh, hell, I’m sorry, what have I done? Here, let me…” She stooped to pick him up; however, as the ground was now slick with porridge, she quickly ended up falling on top of him. “Oh, balls!”

“It’s all right!” he gasped, propping himself up on his elbows. “It’s…all…” Both panting slightly, the two stared at each other for a moment, their faces inches from each other. Fighting back a grin, Eruestan cleared his throat, making both of them blush and look away. Sten rolled his eyes and continued eating. “Shall we get moving, then?” Alistair asked, his voice cracking. “Redcliffe’s not far from here, we should be there within a few hours.”

“Great!” Rowena said quickly, jumping to her feet. “Let’s get going, then!” She looked down as Cormac began gulping down the puddles of spilled porridge, his tail wagging joyfully behind him. “Well, at least that’s taken care of.”

“These are the noble Mabari war hounds,” Morrigan sighed, watching the dog scavenge in the dirt. “The pride of a nation.”

“And so cute, too!” Rowena said lovingly, scratching Cormac’s back. “Come on, boy, we need to leave now, though.”

The group picked up their bags again and began marching down the road to Redcliffe. It was a beautiful day, with clear blue skies and a light breeze drifting lazily through the trees surrounding them. As always, Eruestan couldn’t keep from looking around, forgetting himself for a moment. At times he still found it very strange to be out of the Tower. Things were still too big, too open, and there were moments where he missed the confinement and safety of the Circle. _Stop thinking like that_ , he thought sternly. _Those days are over._ The memories of the Tower suddenly made him shiver – the shame still felt fresh, even if more than a month had passed since everything had happened.

Luckily, he had the beauty of the Arling of Redcliffe to distract him. In stark contrast to the far south, Redcliffe was full of wide plains and stunning mountains, crisscrossed with clear streams and idyllic little villages. Even if it made him a little woozy, Eruestan had to admit that this part of the country was breathtaking, like something out of a tale.

Eventually, as they reached the top of a hill, Leliana stopped and sighed. “Oh, Ferelden is gorgeous,” she said, looking down at the forest and the surrounding mountains. “I could spend my entire life here.”

“Wait until you see Lake Calenhad,” Alistair said proudly. “It’s so beautiful the Tevinters thought their gods had blessed it.”

Eruestan smiled. “The lake really is beautiful – one of my favorite classrooms back at the Tower had a fantastic view of Lake Calenhad,” he said as they made their way back down the other side of the hill. “When were you last by the lake, Alistair?”

“When I was ten,” he said, looking wistful. “Maker, it’s already been eight years…”

“You didn’t come back once you’d left the Templars?” Rowena asked in surprise. “Didn’t your parents want to visit before you joined the Wardens?”

He froze. “Er…well…”

“Oh dear,” Morrigan said. “Is this the part where you tragically reveal that your parents abandoned you once they realized you had the intelligence of a patch of moss?”

“My parents didn’t abandon me, Morrigan,” Alistair snapped, glaring at her.

“Touchy, touchy,” she said. “Something tells me that I have hit a little too close to home—or should I say lack thereof?”

“This isn’t funny, Morrigan,” he said angrily. “I wasn’t abandoned, ok?”

The witch tsked, clearly enjoying herself. “Your mouth says one thing, your eyes another, Alistair.”

“You know what, actually, fine!” he shouted, stopping in the middle of the road. “I should have said this days ago, so we might as well do it now!”

Eruestan and Rowena both frowned and exchanged a look. While she was no doubt looking for trouble, confronting Morrigan now probably wouldn’t end well for anyone. “Er, Alistair?” he said. “Maybe we should save the arguments for later?”

“Argum—oh, no, this isn’t about _her_ ,” he said, glaring at Morrigan. “There’s just some…information about myself that I probably should tell you before we get to Redcliffe.”

“If it’s ‘I’m an idiot’, rest assured, we already knew.”

“You’re hilarious, Morrigan,” he said flatly. “Anyways, it’s about my parents…Maker, how do I start this…look, what do you all know about Arl Eamon?”

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Well, he is…I mean he _was_ King Cailan’s uncle – Cailan’s mother Rowan was Eamon’s older sister. He fought with King Maric during the rebellion and then married the daughter of the Orlesian lord who had taken over Redcliffe.” She paused, her heart suddenly heavy. “He was pretty good friends with my father,” she said quietly. “I know him fairly well – he’s supposed to be one of the most morally upstanding men in Ferelden. Why do you ask?”

“He’s your father, isn’t he?” Leliana said shrewdly.

Eruestan started and stared at her. “How did you jump to that?”

“Well, look at him,” Leliana said. “He has ‘nervous unwanted bastard’ written all over him – in a good way, of course,” she said, seeing the look on Alistair’s face.

“Is it possible to look like that in a good way?” he asked, admittedly looking very nervous. “And you’re wrong – sort of.” He took a deep breath as the others stared at him expectantly. “Okay, okay, here we go. So, like, my mother wasn’t exactly…married…when I was born – and by that I mean she wasn’t at all. She was a servant in the castle, though, so when she died Arl Eamon took me in, and well, see, that’s why I know him so well, because he basically raised me – well, as much as he could, you know? I’m not pretending to be his son or anything, I know better than that – but yeah, I pretty much grew up at Redcliffe Castle.” He finished his speech and looked at the rest of them, panting slightly.  

It was a lot of information all at once. Eruestan wasn’t sure he had quite understood what his point was. “So…,” he said, waiting for a conclusion. “Is Arl Eamon your father, or isn’t he?”

He sighed. “No…King Maric was.”

There was total silence as this fact sunk in. “ _What_?” Leliana gasped.

Morrigan seemed less impressed. “If ever there was an argument against monarchy…”

Rowena, however, looked like she was having a stroke. “You’re…King Maric’s…you’re his…you’re…you’re King Maric’s son?” she choked out, her eyes wide.

Alistair looked horribly awkward. “Yup. Tada!”

Eruestan was stunned. He liked Alistair, but he was the first to say that the knight definitely didn’t look royal. He was too young, too irreverent to be the son of the king. At the same time, though… He thought back to Ostagar, about how similar Alistair had looked to the king. “That means King Cailan was your brother?”

“Half-brother,” Alistair corrected. “And believe me, they made sure I knew that. Cailan was the son of a queen – I’m just the son of a kitchen maid who got swept off her feet by a horny man with a fancy title.”

“That doesn’t bloody matter!” Rowena sputtered. “You’re…you— _King Maric_? The _king_? Seriously? Andraste’s flaming ass, Alistair, didn’t you think we might want to know this a bit earlier?”

“What was I supposed to say?” he asked desperately. “‘Hello, I’m Alistair, nice to meet you, oh, by the way, I’m the king’s bastard son?’ All my life it’s been a secret. No one wanted to ruin the king’s reputation, and then afterwards no one wanted me to ever challenge Cailan’s place on the throne. Only a handful of people have ever known – not even Arlessa Isolde knew.”

Leliana laughed, shaking her head gently. “I still can’t believe that Arl Eamon married Isolde de Banbois.”

Alistair frowned. “Uh…yeah, I think that was her maiden name. Why, do you know her?”

“I know of her,” she said. “And I can’t imagine she was thrilled to have a bastard living in her household.”

“She definitely wasn’t,” he said. “Arl Eamon always told her that I wasn’t his son, but because he wouldn’t tell her who my father actually was, she was sure he was lying to her. Lady Isolde thought I was competition for any of her children to inherit Redcliffe, and once their son Connor was born, she forced Arl Eamon to send me away.”

“So if she didn’t know, who else did?” Rowena asked.

He shrugged. “I’m not totally sure, to be honest. King Maric, obviously…Arl Eamon, his younger brother Bann Teagan…and then probably Teyrn Loghain.”

“Loghain knows?” Eruestan said, shocked.

“Why wouldn’t he?” Alistair said darkly. “He was Maric’s best friend – besides, I was at best an inconvenience and at worst a threat to the Crown. Loghain would have had to have known.”

“What about King Cailan?” Rowena asked.

He snorted. “If he knew, he never bothered telling me. I ran into him all the time whenever he came to Redcliffe, and each time I was royally ignored.”

Leliana was looking at Alistair with a very odd look on her face. “King Cailan didn’t have any children, did he?”

“No, he didn’t,” Rowena said. She stopped suddenly in her tracks and let out the longest stream of profanity Eruestan had ever heard. “Alistair! You’re the king of Ferelden!”

Eruestan hadn’t known that the human face was capable of expressing that much horror. “No! No, no, no, no, no, I’m not,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “Not even _remotely._ It was made very, _very_ clear to me that there was no room for a bastard pretender to the throne – not that I ever wanted it, mind you. If anyone’s the heir, it should be Arl Eamon. He was Cailan’s uncle, he’s very respected, and…Why are you smiling like that?”

 Rowena had all of a sudden started flashing a very wicked grin. “Oh, no reason, Your Majesty. My apologies, Your Majesty.”

“No, no, no, no, none of that,” he said, flushing. “Forget I said anything, okay? There are millions of people who should rule the country before I should – it doesn’t matter who my father was, I’d do a miserable job. I’m still just simple, plain, old Alistair. Nothing special about me at all.”

“Finally, we agree on something.” Morrigan said. “Oh, and Alistair? Were you very close with your father the king?”

He frowned and shook his head, clearly wary of what she was going to say. “No, of course not. I never even met him.”

Morrigan smirked. “So I suppose you were abandoned after all, then, weren’t you?”

He scowled and shot her a rude gesture. “You know, I really hate you, Morrigan.”

She smiled serenely and began walking ahead down the road. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about…”

“Well, I for one think it’s awfully romantic,” Leliana said excitedly as they started following her. “A disgraced bastard king fighting to save his country from destruction? It’s like something from a tale!”

“Yeah, a horror story,” Alistair said. “Now, let’s just hurry up, all right? Redcliffe’s not far at all.”

“As you wish, Sire,” Rowena and Eruestan said in unison, bowing. Looking at each other in surprise, they both burst out laughing. Alistair merely starting grumbling and pushed ahead, making rapid progress down the road.

“Well, that’s new,” Eruestan murmured to Rowena as she fell back with him to the end of the group.

“I can’t believe it,” she said in awe. “Prince Alistair – my parents would have been shocked. King Maric was supposed to have been madly in love with Queen Rowan. Although,” she said, considering something over, “to be fair, I think by the time Alistair was born the queen had already died.”

“What does this mean, though?” Eruestan asked. “Is Alistair really the king?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “He is a bastard – but he’s also the last descendant of King Calenhad.” She shook her head. “It’s funny – Alistair was at Ostagar with his older brother, and hardly anybody knew about it.”

Something clicked in Eruestan’s mind. “Hm,” he said, frowning. “Pretty convenient for Loghain that the only two people with any claim to the throne were fighting in the same battle.”

Rowena looked over at him and shuddered. “Don’t tell Alistair that,” she said darkly. “He feels bad enough about Ostagar as it is. Loghain’s going to pay for this, though, I can tell you that.”

With that, they both fell silent, each reflecting on what this new revelation could mean.

Roughly three hours later, Alistair stopped again. “Look,” he said, pointing to a set of towers just peeking over the nearest hill. “That’s Redcliffe Castle! We’ve made it!”

“Why do they call it Redcliffe, I wonder?” Leliana asked. “In Orlais, when things are called ‘red’, it is often because of a long history of bloody battles and warfare in the area.”

“Er…that could be it,” Alistair said, scratching his head. “To be honest, I always thought it was because the cliffs are red.”

“Oh!” She blinked. “Fereldans are rather simple, are they not?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Sten said.

“Not a fan of Ferelden, Sten?” Alistair asked, looking over his shoulder. “How long have you been here, anyways?”

There was a distant look in the Qunari’s eyes. “Far, far too long.”

“That’s – hang on,” Eruestan said, looking at the hill in front of them. Someone was running down it madly, his arms flailing about in the air. “What’s going on here?”

“Turn back!” the man yelled, a knapsack bouncing comically on his back. “Run away while ye can!”

“Oh, this should be promising,” Morrigan muttered.

Rowena smirked and waved to the man. “Oy! What’s going on?”

He stopped in front of them, grabbing a stitch in his side. “You lot had better not be goin’ into Redcliffe,” he said, panting. “I only just sneaked out meself.”

“Sneaked out? Why?” Alistair asked sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean?” the man asked in horror. “Don’t ye know? Maker preserve us, Bann Teagan’s been promisin’ us that the whole country would be sendin’ help…”

“Bann Teagan? What about Arl Eamon?” Alistair said. “We’ve heard he’s ill – has he gotten worse?”

“Gotten worse? Gotten worse?” The man’s eyes were wild, going from face to face as if trying to figure out if they were joking or not. “We don’t bloody know if he’s even alive! No one’s heard from the castle in days!”

“What?” Rowena asked. “Why?”

“Why—we’re bloody under attack, that’s why!” the man cried. “For the past week! Every night, monsters are pourin’ out of the castle and attackin’ the village! We’ve been fightin’ them back, but every night we lose more and more men, and they only get stronger!”

“That…what do you mean?” Alistair asked, face pale.

“Every night at sunrise, they retreat back to the castle, draggin’ anyone they can find with ‘em…” he shuddered. “The next night…the people they took with ‘em have turned into ‘em, and they’re fightin’ against us…”

“What sort of monsters are they?” Eruestan asked, frowning. That description sounded vaguely like something he’d read about in the Tower…but then that couldn’t possibly be happening at Redcliffe.

“Hell if I know!” the man said. “Bann Teagan’s been keepin’ us in the dark – still wants us all to stay and die in the village, though, we’re good enough for that! The man won’t let us leave – he’s having his bodyguard do patrols during the day, keeping the villagers put! I know better, though. I know we’re not gonna outlast these things! No one could!” He shuddered violently and started running down the road again, his bag bouncing behind him. “Don’t be fools! Save yourselves!”

“What? How can you leave? Your home’s under attack!” Rowena yelled as he tore off into the distance.

“They can have me home!” he called back, sack bouncing. “I want me life!”

She shook her head and spat after him. “That’s loyalty for you,” she muttered.

Alistair turned to Eruestan and Morrigan, looking rather pale. “Do either of you have any idea what this could be? A monster that’s capable of converting its victims to its side?”

The two mages exchanged glances. “I have a hunch,” Eruestan said slowly. “But I can’t see how it could happen here. I need more information before I can say anything.”

“Well, we’re not going to find anything out by standing here,” Rowena said, putting a hand on Alistair’s arm. “Let’s go to the village and figure out what’s happening.”

They began to climb the hill up towards Redcliffe, all suddenly wary of what was lying in wait for them. When they reached the top of the hill, however, they stopped and stared in horror. At first, their eyes were drawn to the vast expanse of Lake Calenhad, its clear blue waters perfectly reflecting the sky above. However, the scene of wreckage stretched out in front of the lake ruined the view. Clouds of smoke were drifting up from Redcliffe Village, billowing over the ruins of what had to have been a fair-sized town. Buildings had been smashed to pieces throughout the villages, the piles of rubble a sad remainder of what had been before. Overhead, ravens and crows circled and dove overhead, likely feasting on carnage they couldn’t see from their spot on the hill. In the distance loomed the towers of Redcliffe Castle, ominous and gray in the late afternoon sun.

Leliana coughed. “Well, you were right, Alistair, the lake is very lovely.”

“Thank you, Leliana,” he whispered. “Maker’s breath…”

Rowena grasped his hand and squeezed it. “It’s all right,” she said gently. “That man said Bann Teagan is still alive, right? Let’s go into the village and find him – I’m sure there’s a way we can help, we just need to ask.” He nodded slowly and began walking down the hill, his face and bleak.

Their descent was slow and long, the party suddenly overcome with chills despite the strong summer sun. Eruestan felt nervous out of nowhere, as if he were descending into a pit of vipers. Something eerie and haunting had settled over the village, a cloud of despair that seemed to fill the air. There was a strange pulse of energy running through the village, one that made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Do you feel it, too?” Morrigan asked quietly as he made a face. “There’s strong magic at play here.”

He nodded and bit his lip. “This doesn’t look good, Morrigan.”

“We shall see,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “We should keep on our guard, however.”

As they entered the village, they were able to see the extent of the damage Redcliffe had taken. The streets were strewn with the rubble of fallen buildings and dead bodies, many of their faces half-eaten by some sort of monster. “You don’t think it’s darkspawn, do you?” Rowena asked uneasily, staring into the unseeing eyes of a girl about her age. “They eat their victims sometimes, don’t they?”

“Nothing else is Blighted, it can’t be darkspawn,” Alistair said. The knight looked like he was going to be sick. “Where is everyone? I’ve never seen the village so empty before.”

He was right. Redcliffe was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the call of carrion birds overhead. The smoke was settling in around them, sending a wave of chills down Eruestan’s back.

Rowena, however, suddenly broke the silence. “Look, there’s a barricade,” she said, pointing to a wall made of broken furniture in front of the village chantry. “Maybe the survivors have hoarded themselves up there.”

They walked forward slowly, stepping carefully through the piles of the dead. The closer they approached, the clearer the signs of a terrible struggle became. Many of the bodies bore terrible injuries, some of them practically having been cut in half. Eruestan felt himself go white. Something awful was clearly happening to the citizens of Redcliffe.

Thankfully, at that moment, a face appeared over the barricade, peering at them suspiciously. “Stop right there!” the woman shouted. “Who are you?”

“We’re looking for Bann Teagan,” Rowena called, raising her hands in peace. “We’re Grey Wardens, and we’re here to help.”

The woman nearly cried out in relief. “Maker be praised,” she said. “Please, come through, come through!”

The party quickly climbed up the ladder she dropped down for them, jumping down into the village square on the other side. Finally they could see some of the remaining villagers, breaking the haunting spell Redcliffe had cast. The sense of despair, however, only grew stronger. Several hundred of Redcliffe’s residents had been crammed into the chantry square, their tired eyes following the Wardens as they made their way through the crowds. Everyone looked exhausted. Parents stared expressionless out into the distance while children too tired to scream leaned dully against them. The more severely-injured seemed to be located within the chantry, whose open doors revealed a small army of sisters all tending to a sea of white cots.

A group of men were having a heated discussion in the center of the square, gesturing angrily towards the castle. “I’ve put up with this long enough, milord,” a short, burly man said gruffly. “As mayor of this village, I’m supposed to take care of these people, and I can’t let you keep carryin’ on with this madness. We shoulda been out of here the moment them things first came pourin’ out the castle.”

“My brother and his family are still trapped in there, Murdock,” the other man replied sharply. He was much taller than Murdock and was dressed in a fine set of blood-spattered leather armor. “I will not leave Redcliffe until we’ve tried our hardest to rescue them.”

Murdock snorted. “Rescue? The arl’s been holed up there for a week – you’ll get us all killed just to find a pile of rags and bones!”

“Be that as it may, we’re still going to try,” the man growled. “Until then, not another man or woman is to leave this village. Have I made myself clear?”

Murdock spat. “You’re a damned fool, Bann Teagan.”

“Bann Teagan!” Alistair cried, running forward. “Is that you?”

The man turned around in surprise. Bann Teagan had a handsome, tanned face with a pair of striking green eyes. Eruestan suddenly felt a little flustered. “ _Alistair_? Maker be praised!” The bann dashed forward and swept the Warden up in a huge embrace.

“Oh! Uh…hi to you, too,” Alistair said, his face mashed into the bann’s tunic.

“Thank the Maker you’re all right,” Teagan said, smiling broadly as he let go of Alistair. “Word from Teyrn Loghain said the Wardens were all killed at Ostagar – I was sure you had died with them.”

“Almost,” Alistair said grimly. “Not quite.” He gestured to Rowena and Eruestan. “The three of us managed to get out in time – we’re the last Wardens in Ferelden.”

Teagan nodded vaguely at Eruestan, then blinked when he saw Rowena. “Lady Rowena! You’re a Grey Warden?”

She smiled and nodded. “It’s nice to see you again, Your Lordship.”

“I’m just relieved to be talking to someone who should be twice dead,” Teagan said bluntly. “I was told you were killed in the sack of Castle Cousland.”

Rowena went stiff beside Eruestan. “Rendon Howe would like that to be true,” she said, voice cold. “Unfortunately for him, it’s not.”

Teagan looked hesitant. “Forgive me, but he’s…not the only one. Part of Loghain’s proclamations involved renouncing House Cousland as traitors to Ferelden and the Crown.”

Rowena went pale. “What?”

He nodded. “Arl Howe has been commended for crushing a rebellion led by your father before it could get off the ground. Highever has been given to Amaranthine and a bounty has been placed on any surviving Couslands.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Alistair said hotly. Rowena had fallen silent. “Loghain’s the one who betrayed Cailan, not Bryce Cousland!”

Teagan shook his head. “Eamon and I feared as much. Loghain has assumed a great deal of power since Ostagar – he’s now Queen Anora’s regent, and he’s taken full control of the military. We thought it was a bit too convenient that both Cailan and Bryce Cousland happened to die within weeks of each other. Eamon wanted to call a Landsmeet to challenge him. That was before all this, however…”

“What’s going on, Your Lordship?” Alistair asked. “We heard there are monsters coming from the castle?”

Teagan sighed and shrugged helplessly. “I wish I could tell you what’s happening, but I’ve no idea. A week ago Eamon was in stable condition – very ill, but able to speak, to think. Then he got…worse. He had lost consciousness the last time I saw him, and none of the village healers had been able to wake him. I left that day for my village in Rainesfere to settle a few business matters, and I only got back after the first attack.”

“Took us all by surprise, they did,” Murdock grumbled. “One minute you’re sound asleep, snorin’ away, the next there’s a bleedin’ corpse crashin’ through your door tryin’ to eat your children. Bloody devils, they are.”

“Corpses?” Eruestan said sharply. “Corpses of what?”

“People,” Bann Teagan said, a little distantly. Eruestan noticed that the bann’s eyes seemed to linger on his ears. “Some are old – flesh rotting, limbs falling off. Others…others are…”

“They’re us,” Murdock finished. “They drag us away, kill us, and turn us inta ‘em.”

Eruestan looked over at Morrigan. She nodded at him slowly, confirming what he had feared. “Describe these corpses,” he said. “How do they move? What are they doing?”

“They’re bloody killin’ us is what they’re doin!” Murdock snapped. “Fast as sin, they are, and strong, too!”

“Not very intelligent, though,” Teagan said quickly. “They can’t use weapons, and most of them just try to bite, like animals. We were initially worried that that was how they turned us – luckily, that doesn’t seem to be the case. A lot of us have been bitten without anything too awful happening. There are so many of them, though, and they’re damn hard to kill. They can’t feel pain, and most wounds to their body seem ineffective. The head needs to be destroyed to kill them – when they team up together, they drag away most of our men before anyone can manage to get a good hit.”

Eruestan let out a deep breath. He had all the information he needed. “I think I know what’s going on,” he said.

“That’s nice,” Teagan said, looking at Rowena and Alistair, “but I just don’t know how we’re going to—”

“Er, we should listen to Eruestan,” Rowena interrupted, eyebrows slightly furrowed. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bann’s line of sight. “He’s a Grey Warden too, a very gifted mage, and he’s read more than almost anyone I know.”

The bann looked amused. “All right, I’ll play along. What do you think it is?”

Eruestan was taken aback. The bann was clearly patronizing him. “Demons,” he replied, a bit more abrupt than usual. “Hunger demons.”

There was a brief pause. “Bloody brilliant,” Murdock growled. “A Blight and a demon invasion – must be our lucky day.”

Teagan raised an eyebrow. “How can you tell they’re demons?”

“Hunger demons,” Morrigan corrected, eyes glinting. “And seeing as you clearly do not value the opinion of an elf, allow me to confirm it. What Eruestan says is true, though it may shock you to believe it.”

Teagan started in surprise, and Eruestan decided he wasn’t quite as handsome as he had thought after all. “I…Ser Warden, let me apologize,” the bann said, bowing. “I’ve been horribly rude…the stress of the past few days…please, forgive me.”

“It’s all right,” he said, his tone neutral. “All the same, I’m almost positive that you’re dealing with hunger demons. They’re usually the only demons stupid enough to possess deceased bodies – they mistake them for the living and use them to leave the Fade. That’s why your dead are fighting against you. The demons are possessing the corpses of everyone who falls in combat and using them to keep attacking. It also explains why so many of them are trying to bite people. Hunger demons want to devour everything in sight – carrying back the dead only means that they can bring more demons into the world.”

“Forgive me, but this is all impossible,” the bann said. “Demons can’t just pass through the Veil, it’s why we _have_ a Veil!”

“They can if a mage summons them,” Eruestan said. “Something’s happening in that castle, something dark and dangerous.”

“I agree,” Morrigan said. “My mother spent most of her time summoning such demons, I have a close familiarity with their habits.”

Teagan stared at her. “That was an extremely disconcerting sentence…but never mind that. What in Andraste’s name are we supposed to do now?”

“Die, it appears,” Sten said.

“Not necessarily,” Eruestan said, shooting the Qunari a look. “It’s actually a good thing they’re dead. It’d be much, _much_ worse if we were dealing with living Abominations. The only problem is like you said – you have to attack the head to really kill them. The mind is the center of possession, even for the dead. If you can destroy it, you can kill the demon. We can still win this fight.”

“Easier said than done,” Bann Teagan replied. “We only have until sunset before the next raid, and the village is on its last leg. The men are exhausted and we hardly have any supplies.”

“We can help!” Alistair said. “All of us are strong fighters – if we man the barricade here, we can hold them for the night.”

Teagan smiled slowly, hope lighting up his eyes. “I can’t pretend that that isn’t an interesting offer. With your help, we might even be able to build up the village’s defenses before night falls.”

“We are not seriously going to stay with these people, are we?” Morrigan asked in shock before anyone else could respond. “At best all we will do is earn them an extra night before we all get eaten and turned into demons ourselves.”

“That’s what Grey Wardens do, Morrigan,” Alistair said icily. “We help people, no matter what they need from us.”

“The Grey Wardens are meant to fight the Blight,” Sten said. “This is a waste of time and resources – we should move on and find other allies who can help us in our fight.”

“Innocent people are going to die, Sten!” Leliana gasped.

“Lots of innocent people are going to die before all this is over,” the Qunari said gravely. “Sacrificing a few hundred lives here could save thousands later on.”

“There’s no point in saving the world if no one’s left living in it,” Rowena said. “What do you think, Eruestan? I think we need to stay.”

The elf bit his lip, looking around at the different expressions on his companions’ faces. As much as he knew that the right thing to do would be to stay and fight, he couldn’t help but agree with Morrigan and Sten: the position at Redcliffe seemed indefensible. Wouldn’t it be better to cut their losses and find another noble to work with? Although, to be fair, who would that noble be? “We have to stay,” he said slowly. “Arl Eamon is our only chance to unite the Bannorn against Teyrn Loghain – if we can’t get to him, we won’t have any of the human armies to fight the horde. Redcliffe’s fight is our fight, too.”

Both Alistair and Bann Teagan looked visibly relieved as Sten and Morrigan reluctantly nodded. “In that case, Wardens, I have a long list of tasks for you,” the bann said. “First off, a lot of our fighters are too injured to join the battle tonight. If we could get them in better shape, we’d have that many more men joining the defenses. Would you mages be able to heal them?”

Eruestan glanced at Morrigan. “I can take a look,” he said. “But a lot of the healing magic I know is pretty basic – I won’t be able to treat anything too serious.”

“Already that would be a huge help,” Teagan said. “Speaking of the chantry, however, might I ask another favor from one of you? There’s a huge supply of oil in the chantry cellars, which would be a perfect addition to our defenses tonight. The oil is anointed, however, normally reserved for religious ceremonies, and Revered Mother has refused to let us burn it.”

“Another noble sacrifice from the Chantry,” Morrigan said. “A true source of inspiration in these troubled times.”

“I can talk to the Revered Mother, if you like,” Leliana said, glaring at Morrigan. “I’m pretty good at dealing with priestesses – I’m also pretty good at stealing large barrels of liquid, if need be. Wouldn’t be the first time, at least.”

“What the _hell_ were you before you joined the Chantry?” Alistair asked in wonder.

“ _You_ were a Chantry sister?” The bann shook his head. “Actually, no, I’d rather not ask. It wouldn’t matter if you were the Divine herself, so long as you can get us that oil.”

“What about us?” Rowena asked, pointing to herself, Alistair, and Sten. “Any heads that need cracking? Because that’s more our specialty.”

“The list of heads I don’t need cracked would be shorter,” Teagan said wearily. “But actually, that’s exactly what I need you to do. I know a lot of capable fighters have holed themselves up in some of the houses around town – we need to drag as many of them out into the square as possible.”

Alistair glanced over at Sten’s arms. “Something tells me dragging won’t be a problem for us.”

“Most importantly, though, I need someone to get our blacksmith working again.” He pointed to a smithy just off the square, the fires from its forge apparently fanned out. “We need to repair our weapons and refresh our supplies, but Owen’s refused to help us. If you could get him to work with us, it might give us the advantage we need to survive the night.”

“We’ll start there, then,” Alistair said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, that’s already more than enough.” Teagan looked at all of them in obvious relief, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes. “I cannot begin to thank you enough for your help – we might be able to weather this storm after all.” Someone called his name from the other side of the square. “Excuse me, I have to leave – I have a meeting with the village council. Maker be with you all!”

“So this is the part where we split up, I guess?” Eruestan asked, looking at Rowena.

She nodded, glancing up at the castle from where it stood over the village. “We need to be quick,” she said grimly. “Tonight isn’t going to be easy.”

He nodded and stared up with her. He could still feel that strange energy pulsing from the castle, a grim promise of the fight to come. “Be careful,” he said with a shiver. “Something very wrong is going on here.”

“You, too,” she said, flashing him a smile. Then the group split in two, ready to prepare Redcliffe for the fight of its life.


	17. The Coming Storm

The smithy at Redcliffe was slightly larger than the one at Highever, which made sense. Redcliffe was a crucial fortress for the defense of the Bannorn, controlling the only access to the rest of country from the southern coast of Lake Calenhad. Keeping it well-supplied was thus a necessity. That, however, made seeing it empty feel all the stranger.

“Have you ever seen a smithy this large this quiet before?” Rowena asked, looking at the unlit forge in the small courtyard outside. “How could this Owen guy just leave everyone in the lurch like this?”

“Owen was always a little prickly,” Alistair confessed. “He used to scare the shite out of me when I was a kid. Honestly, though, everything’s weird here – there are normally so many people you can’t hear yourself think.” He shook his head, his eyes deeply sad. “But then, you’ve been to Redcliffe before,” he said. “You probably already know what it’s like normally.”

“I’ve only ever been to the castle,” she admitted. “We would take boats across the lake from Highever. Even then, the last time I was here I was about eight. That was the year Arl Eamon invited half the Bannorn for the Satinalia feast.”

“I remember that feast,” Alistair said fondly. “They cooked a duck for everyone staying in the stables.”

She flushed. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”

Alistair looked confused. “What do you mean, bad memories? That duck was amazing!”

“ _Vashedan_ , you _basra_ like to prattle,” Sten growled.

“Easy, Sten, everyone likes talking about Satinalia,” Alistair said.

The Qunari gave him a steely look. “I do not.”

Rowena narrowed her eyes. “You don’t even know what Satinalia is, do you?”

Sten didn’t answer for a moment. “No, I do not.”

Rowena and Alistair looked at each other in surprise. “You’ve never heard of Satinalia?” Alistair gasped. “Oh, Sten, it’s the best! Everyone gives each other gifts, there’s a ton of food, and if you’re really lucky you get named king for the day and can tell everyone what to do!”

“Do you have anything like that in the Qun?” Rowena asked, eager for more information about the Qunari religion.

Sten, however, didn’t seem in the mood to share. “No. Now are we going to find this traitor blacksmith or not?”

Alistair sighed and walked up to the front door. “You’ll warm up to us at some point, Sten, I know you will.” Ignoring the Qunari’s scoff, he started knocking loudly on the door. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

There was some rustling from inside, followed by a long, low moan.

“Er…hello?” he repeated, knocking again, albeit a little gingerly.

“Go away,” someone’s muffled voice echoed from inside. “We’re closed.”

“Owen?” Alistair asked. “Is that you?”

There was a short pause. “Who are you?” the voice said. “How’d you know me name?”

“Um, well, you probably don’t remember me, Owen, but this is Alistair, one of the former stable boys from up at the castle,” Alistair called. “I’ve been gone for a while, but I’ve come back to try and help everyone out.” Owen didn’t answer for a moment. “Could you please open the door?” Alistair asked. “It’d be easier to talk if we could see you face to face.”

There was some low grumbling from the other side, and for a moment Rowena thought he wasn’t going to let them in. Then, the door swung open, revealing an older man with a massive beard leaning heavily against a wall. “You’re…you’re from the c-castle?” he hiccupped.

Alistair opened his mouth to reply and instantly started choking. “Maker’s breath! What have you been drinking?”

A moment later, Rowena was struck by the cloud of booze as well. The fumes were powerful, enough to make her eyes water. She began coughing loudly; Sten merely sighed and crossed his arms.

Owen didn’t seem fazed. “You’re from the castle?” he repeated, his bloodshot eyes staring listlessly up at Alistair.

“I mean, I used to be,” the knight coughed, tears streaming down his face. “It’s been a while – I’m a Grey Warden now, that’s why.”

“A Grey Warden?” Owen slurred, his face slowly lighting up. “You could definitely get in there, then!”

Alistair paused. “Um, well, I don’t know if we want to—”

The blacksmith had stopped paying attention to him. “Come in, come in!” he burped, pushing Alistair inside. “Have a seat!”

Rowena, Cormac, and Sten followed quickly behind them, ducking under the low-hanging entrance. The smithy looked as though it had gone through a siege of its own: weapons and metal had been thrown about the front room, and most of the furniture had been flipped on its side. Alistair had been forced into one of the few remaining chairs, while Owen was busy pouring both of them a drink. “Really, you don’t have to do that,” Alistair said. “I don’t really want to—”

“Hush,” the blacksmith said, forcing a glass into Alistair’s hand and sloshing most of the alcohol on his lap. Owen then downed his own tankard in one gulp and slammed it onto the table. “I knew I’d find someone to get into that castle,” he snarled, wiping his mouth. “That bastard Teagan’ll pay for this, that’s a promise.”

“I’m sorry, no one’s said anything about going into the castle,” Rowena said, walking up to them. “We’re here to get you to – no, thanks, I don’t want a drink – we’re here to ask you to – hey, I said I didn’t – _stop that_!” She knocked the glass out of Owen’s hands, making the blacksmith’s face twist into a scowl. “Go ahead and pout, see if I care,” she snapped. “You’re still going to get this forge lit again.”

Owen looked over each one of them, his eyes getting darker and darker. “So that’s what this is about,” he spat. “That arselicker Teagan sent you, didn’t he?”

“He had to,” Rowena said. “The people of Redcliffe need your help, and you’re just holed up in here dousing yourself in whiskey!”

Owen laughed, an unpleasant, wheezy rasp that showed off the fact that he was missing half his teeth. “‘The people of Redcliffe’, she says. Like I give a rat’s arse about them! After what they’ve done to me!”

“Done to you?” Alistair asked, standing up while surreptitiously squeezing the whiskey out of his tunic. “What have they done to you?”

Owen looked over at him and out of nowhere burst into violent tears.

Alistair looked back dumbfounded at Rowena and Sten. “Was it something I said?”

“Humans,” Sten muttered, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Owen wept, sinking to his knees and burying his face in his hands. “It’s just she’s all I got left in this world…I can’t…”

Alistair frowned and crouched down next to him. “Who?” he asked gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Who are you talking about?”

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “Me daughter Valena,” he said thickly, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “She’s a maid up at the castle, been there since she was a girl. I haven’t had a word from her since them bloody beasts started attackin’, though. I tried to get the bann to charge the castle and find her, but they won’t fuckin’ listen! So fuck ‘em! Fuck all of em!” He took another swig from the rum and then chucked the bottle against the wall in rage.

Rowena watched the liquor slide down the walls almost serenely, a familiar, savage rage building in her stomach. “You’re pathetic,” she said coldly.

Alistair shot her a look. “Rowena…”

“No, he is,” she said. She looked coldly at Owen, barely able to hide her revulsion.  “You think you’re the only one with loved ones in danger? You think your suffering is more important than everyone else’s? All of Redcliffe is relying on you to keep their families safe, and you can’t help because you don’t know where your daughter is?”

“You can shut up, Firecrotch,” the blacksmith growled. “You don’t understand what I’m goin' through.”

“Actually, I do,” Rowena said, eyes flashing as Cormac began snarling beside her. “I know exactly what it feels like to lose your loved ones.” Even as she said it, her stomach clenched in grief; she refused to let it break through, however, and pushed on. “I lost my entire family,” she said, her eyes watering as the anger swept over her. “I even saw some of them die. Did I sit back, though, say ‘fuck ‘em all’, and drink myself to death? No. I’m fighting, fighting to save as many people as I can, and if you had half a pair of balls you would, too.”

The blacksmith didn’t say anything. Kneeling there before her like that, all Rowena could think of were her parents, how they had knelt before her, too, fighting to their last breath. “What would your daughter say if she saw you now?” she asked coldly. “What would she think about her father letting the rest of the village die?”

He glared at her for a moment, then looked down to the floor in shame. “All right, fine. But if you want my forge, you need to promise me that you’ll bring me Valena back.”

Alistair hesitated, clearly humbled by their exchange. “We’ll do our best, Owen,” he said gently, “but we can’t—”

“ _No_!” Owen leapt to his feet, making them jump. “That’s what Murdock and the bann said, and look where it got me! You want me wares, you bring me baby back!”

“For an old drunkard, you make a lot of demands, human,” Sten said harshly.

Owen’s resolve broke again. “Please…promise me you’ll bring her back,” he said. “I’ll help the village, fine, but…please. She’s…she’s me baby girl…”

Rowena looked into his face and took a deep breath. This time, thinking of her father made her heart twinge with pity. “I promise,” she said, trembling slightly. “I promise you we’ll find her.”

Owen stared at her for an instant, then began nodding slowly. “You know what, I almost believe you. If anyone’s going to do this, it’s the bleedin’ Grey Wardens.” Wiping his face with his hands, he climbed out of his chair and walked over to a bucket in the corner. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get sobered up if I’m gonna be workin’ for the rest of the day. Speakin’ of which, you need anythin’? I got no more armor left, but weapons, maybe?”

Sten grunted. “I would be…grateful…if you had a greatsword I could fight with.”

Owen stared at Sten for a moment and then jumped suddenly. “Andraste’s tits, he’s been here the whole time? What even is that? My stuff’d look like a bloody toy on him!”

Sten muttered a few swear words under his breath; Rowena coughed to cover them up. “Maybe a long-sword, then?” she said. “A _very_ long long-sword?”

Owen frowned and pulled a blade off the wall. “Try this…Maker, he makes it look like a butterknife…”

Sten took the sword and weighed it disdainfully in his hands. “Poor balance…flaws along the edge…His workmanship leaves much to be desired.”

“What’s that?” Owen said.

“I did not address you, _bas_ ,” Sten snapped.

“Ok, well, this was fun!” Alistair said quickly, ushering the others outside. “Thank you so much! Everyone will appreciate it!” Owen grumbled something back to him and began dunking his head in the water bucket.

Outside, a small group of villagers had started fortifying the barricades, throwing furniture and wood onto the piles. The sun had started to hang low overhead, signaling the mid-afternoon. “What does that word mean, Sten?” Rowena asked. “ _Bas_? You say it a lot.”

“Foreigner. Outsider.” He looked over at her, and to her immense surprise he smirked. “Literally, ‘thing’.”

“Beautiful language,” she said faintly.

“Come on, we should start checking the houses,” Alistair said. “We’re going to run out of time otherwise.”

Rowena nodded, glancing up at the sun. “Let’s just hope the others are making as much progress as we are.”

* * *

In the meantime, Eruestan was having one of the most frustrating conversations of his life. “I just don’t see what the problem is!” he said. “The bann himself asked us to help heal the wounded!”

“His Lordship isn’t here,” the chantry sister in front of him sniffed, her eyes looking over Eruestan and Morrigan with unmasked disdain. “And frankly, I’m not very comfortable with the two of you throwing spells around in here without any Templar supervision!”

“I have been casting spells without the Templars since I was a child,” Morrigan said. “I have yet to have a problem.”

“I don’t know if that’s helping, Morrigan,” Eruestan said as the sister started. “Sister, these people need our help! Surely you can see the good it would serve if we could heal them!”

“And if you become abominations?” she asked stiffly, crossing her arms.

The elf took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice respectful. “Please, let me just go find the Revered Mother,” he said calmly. “I’m sure she would let us get to work.”

“The Revered Mother is busy enough as it is,” the sister said. “Especially now that your friend has cornered her and taken so much of her already precious time.”

“Oh, yes, she must have such a busy schedule, singing all day to an invisible sky mage,” Morrigan snapped. “However does she do it?”

“Again, probably not helping,” Eruestan said. The witch scowled and looked away. Eruestan turned back to the sister and crossed his arms as well. In most circumstances, he would have acquiesced to the Chantry’s wishes. Now, however, he had a mission, and that was giving him the strength to push back. “Look,” he said evenly. “There are a lot of hurt people in this chantry, and Morrigan and I have the power to help ease their suffering.” An idea suddenly came to him. “Isn’t that the Maker’s will? Easing people’s pain?”

The sister blinked, clearly taken aback by that argument. Eruestan let her work out the natural conclusion on her own, quietly enjoying the growing look of frustration on her face. “All right, fine!” she hissed, her flabby cheeks flushed with anger. “Just don’t frighten any of the children with your magic!”

“We’ll be sure not to,” Eruestan said smugly, already turning back to the rows of cots stretched out in the main hall of the chantry. There were roughly fifty people lying before him and Morrigan, moaning and writhing in the dim light of the building. Some of their injuries unfortunately seemed too severe for his magic to be of any use, and with a grimace he realized that a handful of the wounded would soon be dead regardless of what either of them did. Others, however, looked a little more manageable. To their credit, the Chantry priestesses had done a good job applying poultices and bandages, and for the most part the cots they were looking at seemed clean.

“Some of this might not be too bad, actually,” Eruestan said, bending down over a woman bearing a terrible gash on her arm. “Hi, there, do you mind if I just…” He peeled back her bandage, making her moan in agony. Eruestan winced and looked at her apologetically. “I’m so sorry, this will only take a second – Morrigan, here, I think if we cast a cleaning charm followed by a suturing spell we can heal this.”

“Do not tell me what to do!” she snapped. Eruestan started and looked over at her. “I don’t see why we need to use spells at all, a poultice would be more than enough!”

“A poultice might give her gangrene if we’re not careful,” Eruestan said, frowning slightly. “If we use magic, we might be able to avoid all that.”

“Go ahead, cast it, then,” Morrigan said, turning up her nose. “You are the expert, after all.”

Eruestan gave her a long look. Bizarrely, something about the way she was acting reminded him of Jowan. “Morrigan,” he said gently, “you do know how to cast a healing spell, don’t you?”

For a moment, it looked like the witch was going to snap back at him. However, instead she merely sniffed and said, “No.”

“That’s ok!” he said as the woman began to moan again beneath them. Secretly, however, he was a bit surprised. With all the skills Flemeth had, he had assumed that Morrigan had to have been taught at least a little. “Healing magic’s really hard, even I don’t know most of it. I can show you the basics, though, is that all right?”

Morrigan looked at him and nodded. Amazingly, she almost seemed embarrassed. “So what do we do first?” she asked.

“Well, first we need to clean this wound,” he said, looking at the angry red flesh surrounding the injury. “Here, hold your hand like this, and focus on how clean and intact your own arm is. The word’s ‘ _Depurgo_ ’.”

Morrigan closed her eyes and muttered the spell. There was a flash of blue light and the injured woman yelped. However, when the light cleared, the swelling had gone down and looked less red.

“Very good!” Eruestan said. “You learn quickly!” Morrigan nodded. Her face was cold, but Eruestan thought he could detect a hint of pride in her eyes. “Here, I’ll just finish up – _depurgo_!” There was another flash of light, and the signs of infection vanished, making the wound look fresh. “All right, now that it’s clean, watch me – focus the same energy and say, _sanesco_!” As he did so, the gash sealed up beneath his fingers, leaving a faint scar that traced up to the woman’s shoulder.

The patient gasped and sat up on her cot. “Thank you, serah!” she said. “It feels so much better!”

“Be careful,” he warned. “The magic cleaned the cut and knitted the flesh back together, but there’s still some internal healing that needs to be done. Tell Bann Teagan that you shouldn’t be on the front lines tonight.”

The woman nodded, her face suddenly grim, and stood up to leave the chantry.

“That’s about the extent of what we’ll be able to do, unfortunately,” Eruestan said to Morrigan as they moved to another cot. “I can’t regrow flesh to seal larger injuries, and I can’t even mend broken bones. At worst, I might be able to do some quick scarring magic, but that would get in the way of real healing later on. Every little bit helps, though, right?” Morrigan nodded slowly; he couldn’t help but notice that she looked upset. “You all right?”

She paused and bent over the next cot. “You must think I’m a fool,” she said finally, cleaning a wound on the man’s shoulder. “Unable to even seal even a minor cut.”

“Don’t be silly,” Eruestan said firmly, getting to work on another injury on the man’s chest. “First off, you know how to do it now, so it doesn’t matter anymore. And besides, most mages don’t know how to heal, either – I was just lucky enough to have a good mentor back at the Tower.”

“I suppose that is the advantage of having so many mages in one place,” she said. “They may be large prisons, but at least you have a lot of teachers.”

“Did you ever wish you were at the Tower?” Eruestan asked, closing the cut with a flash of blue light.

Morrigan scoffed. “Never. Spend my life in a cage, bending and dancing at the Chantry’s whim? I had my freedom in the Wilds – nothing was forced on me.”

“Things weren’t that bad at the Circle,” Eruestan said mildly. “We were able to do what we wanted, most of the time.”

“Ah, yes, most of the time,” she said, standing up. “What an exhilarating burst of freedom that must have been.”

“Oh, let’s not talk mage politics, please,” Eruestan sighed, moving over to the next cot. “I never really paid any attention to them – I was there to be a scholar, that was all I cared about.”

“The plight of your fellow mages didn’t concern you? How cold.”

“I didn’t even realize we were in plight,” Eruestan said, just a little stiffly. “I didn’t do it actively, it’s just that books and studying have always been my way of coping with things.”

“I suppose ‘tis a nice way to forget your worries,” she said. “Even at the price of ignoring the injustice around you.”

He shot her a look as he finished his spell. “Actually, in the beginning they were a way to remember,” he said shortly. “Reading made me think of my mother.” He paused, suddenly gripped by an old, familiar memory of a fireplace and warm hands opening a book in front of him. “I was four years old when I left for the Circle, but I know she had already taught me how to read. I don’t remember her name, or even really what she looked like, but I do remember that.”

Morrigan fell silent. Eruestan shook his head and went back to work. A moment later, the witch cleared her throat. “Mothers teach us a great deal of things,” she said quietly. “Almost everything I know I learned from mine.”

“I think you learned a lot more from yours than I ever did from mine,” Eruestan said, smirking gently.

“Mine taught me that anything injured was best left for nature to take care of,” Morrigan replied. “You are lucky she bothered healing all of you.”

Eruestan snorted. “Believe me, I am very aware of that.”

“Oh, there you two are!” Leliana said, running up to them. “I _finally_ convinced Mother Hannah to let us use the oil – I had to recite about half of the Chant of Light, but in the end she came around.”

“Ah, the generosity of the Chantry,” Morrigan quipped, quickly retreating back behind her shell. “Willing to help anyone that can sufficiently threaten them with the Maker’s wrath.”

“If you keep your face like that, Morrigan, you’re going to get terrible wrinkles,” Leliana said archly. “And everyone’s scared! It’s normal to react like this. Terror does strange things to people, makes them forget who they are.”

Eruestan looked down at the next patient, a young elf with sandy blond hair and a sullen face. “Another elf!” he said cheerfully. “What have you got? How can we help?”

“Just go away,” the elf snapped, clutching at a cut on his side. “Don’t touch me!”

“That’s not very polite,” Leliana said, crossing her arms. “Eruestan just wants to help heal you.”

“I don’t need it!” the elf said, turning away from them. “I’m fine!”

Eruestan looked at him closely. Unlike the others, no one had treated his wounds at all. Either the elf had pushed everyone else away, or the Chantry sisters hadn’t deigned to give him bandages. “I need to take a look at that,” he said firmly, bristling with indignation. Were elves not even worthy of basic treatment? “Leliana, grab his cloak.”

The elf squawked in protest as she swept up the heavy cloak that had been draped over his body despite the late summer heat. It was as Eruestan had feared – the elf’s wound was bad and needed immediate attention. He set about healing it without hesitating.

Leliana, however, drew in her breath sharply next to him. “Eruestan, Morrigan,” she hissed. “This fell out of his pocket.”

At first, Eruestan could barely make sense of the piece of paper she had thrust in his face. Once his eyes adjusted to the light and read the message written on it, however, he abruptly ended his spell and helped Leliana restrain the elf before he could escape. “Someone get Bann Teagan!” he called over to one of the sisters. “This man is under arrest!”

* * *

 Meanwhile, Rowena was busy stepping away from the last house jutting out on the docks of Lake Calenhad. “I don’t see anyone here, either!” she called over to Alistair. “Either they’re really good hiders, or we’re terrible seekers.”

“I can’t believe we only found two people,” Alistair said glumly as she and Cormac walked back to him. The sun was low in the sky now, streaking the clouds with orange and pink that reflected magnificently off the waters of the lake. “Bann Teagan’s going to be so disappointed.”

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” Rowena said, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll be able to make a difference tonight, I know we will.”

“Thanks,” the knight said, smiling back weakly at her. He looked up at the castle, already turning dark in the fading sun. “Maker, I hope he’s all right.”

Rowena bit her lip. Alistair looked anguished, his normally carefree face taut with worry. “I’m sure he is,” she said gently. “Arl Eamon’s a strong man – if anyone can survive an attack of the undead, it’s him.”

He grimaced. “Maker, it’s like living in a nightmare, isn’t it?” He then sighed and shook his head, still looking up at the castle. “The last time I saw him, I was so mad at him – I said some things I shouldn’t have. I’m so ashamed to even think of them now. Eamon was really good to me, you know, even if I lived in the stables. He didn’t have to be – he didn’t even have to take me in. I was his sister’s husband’s bastard, he should have hated me. But he treated me like a son, instead. And look at how I repaid him.”

“I mean, he was kicking you out of your home,” Rowena said gently.

He shrugged. “I don’t blame him, really. Not even the arlessa. To be honest, for someone in her position, she was pretty gracious to me all throughout my life. It wasn’t until Connor was born that I had to leave, and looking back I feel like most people would have done the same.”

Rowena tried to imagine being sent away from Highever at the age of ten, leaving everything she had ever known, everyone she had ever loved. The image of her parents kneeling on the kitchen floor flashed in front of her eyes. She reached forward suddenly and put a hand on his shoulder. “That still had to be hard, though,” she said.

Alistair smiled at her. “Don’t worry, I overreacted properly. I wouldn’t touch any of my food for days after they told me – when Arl Eamon finally came to talk to me, I didn’t even look at him.” He furrowed his eyebrows and pulled out his amulet from under his tunic. “You know, it’s funny – Arl Eamon once gave me an amulet just like this one when I was a kid, only made out of clay. Cheap, you know? He said it belonged to my mother. It was all I ever had of hers – I didn’t even know her name. I used to wear it everywhere… That night when Arl Eamon was talking to me…he kept going on about duty and being kind to the arlessa…I was just so mad, though. I couldn’t think about anything else. I ripped off the amulet and threw it to the ground, told him that was how I felt about his kindness. It must have shattered into about a thousand different pieces – stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never forgiven myself for it.” He shook his head. “Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that before.”

Deeply moved, Rowena opened her mouth to say something. However, she was cut off by Sten, who came up to them from the other side of the docks. “There was no one else back there, either,” the Qunari said. “We should head back to the square.”

Rowena bit her lip and looked over at Alistair. The knight, however, was looking at the setting sun. “You’re right, Sten,” he said. “If we wait too long, we’ll miss the attack.”

They began making their way through the growing shadows of the village, looking around carefully for any signs of life. Admittedly, Rowena was hard pressed to think of a place that looked more dead. Redcliffe was silent, and a strange tension had filled the air, like a gallows before an execution. Rowena almost shivered, suddenly overcome with the feeling that someone was watching her.

Suddenly, Cormac began to growl, his nose pointed at a house a few feet away from them. “I think Cormac’s found something,” she said, frowning at the building. It was a small yet well-built house squeezed between two large buildings, one they had overlooked during their first searches. “Do you think someone’s in there?”

Alistair walked up and started pounding on the front door. “Only one way to find out – hello?” he called, pounding at the door even harder. “Is anyone in there?”

There was silence from the other side. Cormac, however, began to bark viciously, running up to the door and clawing at it. “Someone has to be inside,” Rowena said sharply. “Sten, could you knock the door down?” The Qunari looked at her coldly. “Please?” she asked, flushing.

Sten walked up to the house, motioning for Alistair and Cormac to get out of the way. Taking a deep breath, he picked up one leg and smashed through the door, making the thick oak splinter like plywood.

“Maker, you’re scary,” Alistair breathed as Sten straightened his back. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Oy!” someone said from inside the house. “What the hell are you doing?”

Rowena stepped in with the others, her eyes adjusting to the dim light inside the house. They appeared to be in a sparse yet solidly built sitting room, with sturdy furniture and a small stockpile of food in the back. A dwarf with a thick black beard and a well-crafted suit of armor was glaring up at them between two burly bodyguards. “This is private property!” he bellowed, shaking his fist in Rowena’s face. “I’ll make you pay for this!”

Cormac started snarling at him; Rowena placed a hand on his collar to calm him down. “Sorry about the door,” she said calmly. “We just thought you’d want to be down in the village square like the bann ordered.”

The dwarf shook his head, all the while keeping a careful eye on Cormac. “Is that what this is all about? I told Teagan, I’m not going down there just to get killed with the rest of the idiots in town. We’ll wait this out if we have to.”

Rowena frowned at him. Before she could come up with a response, however, Sten suddenly lurched forward and picked up one of the dwarf’s bodyguards by the collar. The man began to howl, his face turned white from the force of Sten’s grip. “Um, Sten?” Rowena asked in alarm. “You might want to let the nice man down?”

The Qunari didn’t seem to hear her. “Where did you get that sheath?” he demanded, shaking the guard. “Where is the sword?”

“I don’t have it!” the man squeaked. “I don’t, Maker, I swear!”

“By the Stone, get it to let him down!” the dwarf yelled at Rowena. “We bought that sheath from a caravan a month ago! There was never any sword!”

Completely bewildered, Rowena and Alistair took a close look at the sheath on the man’s back. It was an impossibly long silver case covered in intricate geometric designs, shining like dragon scales even in the dim light of the room. Alistair looked over at her in confusion; she shrugged and turned back to Sten. “Sten, what are you doing?” she whispered, keeping an eye on the dwarf. “What’s this about a sword?”

Sten didn’t look at her, his eyes boring directly into the face of the man struggling in his grip. Then, without warning, he dropped the guard as quickly as he had picked him up, ripping the sheath off his back. Then he stormed out of the house without saying a word.

“What in Stone’s name was that?” the dwarf yelled as his bodyguard whimpered at his feet. “My man better get his sheath back!”

“I don’t think you want to mess with Sten right now,” Rowena said, looking out the door at the Qunari. Sten was staring at the scabbard in his hands, his face expressionless. “And besides, what are you going to do about it? Yell at Bann Teagan about us?”

The dwarf’s face turned red. “Get out of my house! You’re not welcome here!”

“And what are you going to do when we leave?” Alistair asked, raising an eyebrow. “Good luck keeping an undead horde out of your house without a door.”

“Not such a safe spot now, is it?” Rowena asked. “You’d be much better off behind the barricades joining the fight.”

“ _Out_!” the dwarf bellowed. Smirking at each other, Alistair and Rowena held up their hands and backed out of the house, joining Sten out on the road.

“They’ll be in the square in five minutes, if you ask me,” Alistair said, grinning. “They all looked pretty well-equipped for a fight, too – Bann Teagan’s going to be really pleased.”

Rowena nodded and looked over at Sten. The Qunari had not moved, his eyes staring blankly at the sheath. “Sten?” she asked gently. “Are you all right?”

The Qunari started as if she had jumped out in front of him. “It’s nothing,” he said abruptly, taking the greatsword Owen had given him and shoving it haphazardly into the sheath. “The sun will set soon, we should get back to the main square.”

Rowena knew better than to ask too many questions. Knowing Sten, it would be a very long time before they ever learned what that had been about – if they ever did at all.  

As they approached the square, they were met by a group of men heading down from the cliffs overlooking the village. They were mostly young, muscled warriors in fine suits of armor, looking grim and glancing up at the sun. Rowena quickly realized that these had to be the knights of Redcliffe.

One of them looked over at her and started. “Oi!” he shouted. “Who’s there?”

Alistair squinted and then smiled. “Roland?”

The knight broke out into a huge grin. “Alistair! Is that you?” He turned around. “Men! Look who’s come back to Redcliffe!” The other knights let out a loud cheer when they saw Alistair, running up to him and clapping him on the back.  “Maker’s breath, what are you doing here? I thought all the Grey Wardens got slaughtered down at Ostagar!”

“Just about,” Alistair said. “There’s only three of us left.”

Ser Roland caught sight of Rowena. “And would this lovely creature happen to be one of your fellows? Or is this just your latest conquest?”

Rowena rolled her eyes, although strangely she felt herself start to blush. Despite the circumstances, something about that idea made her feel a little giddy.

Alistair, on the other hand, began to melt down in front of them. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, not at all,” he said hastily. “In fact, if anyone’s doing the conquesting, it’s her—” Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Er, not romantically, of course! But what I mean is that she’s a good fighter! Like a really good warrior – ages better than me, seriously! Not to say I’m particularly at fighting or anything, it’s just…that she’s…really…good…” Apparently out of steam, his voice fizzled out as he blushed furiously.

Ser Roland looked far too pleased with the situation. “And would this beautiful, ‘really good warrior’ happen to have a name?” he asked, nodding at her.          

She met his eye. “Lady Rowena of House Cousland, Grey Warden. Pleased to meet you.”

The knights all instantly fell to their knees. “My lady,” Ser Roland said, his smug look now one of chagrin. “Please forgive me my rudeness, I meant no disrespect.”

Rowena wondered if she’d have been given such an apology had she been a blacksmith’s daughter. “None taken. The four of us were just heading to the village square for the fight tonight?”

Ser Roland looked back at Sten and started. “Maker’s breath, look at the size of him!” he breathed. “Maybe we’ll stand a chance tonight after all!”

“Where are you all coming from?” Alistair asked. “Were you trying to make it into the castle?”

The knights shook their heads. “Those beasts have the front gates blocked and under watch,” Ser Roland said. “We’ve been keeping an eye on the castle during the day just in case they mount an attack before sunset.”

“I guess it’s a good thing they seem to be night owls, isn’t it?” Rowena asked as they began to head back to the village.

“It’s a good thing most of us are here in the first place to fight,” Roland said. “We barely made it back from our quest for the Urn after the defeat at Ostagar.”

Rowena looked over at him. “We’ve heard about that,” she said. “We ran into another knight at Lothering who said you’ve all be sent out across the country looking for it.”

“That must have been Donall, he was the only one daft enough to go that far south,” Roland said, looking over at Alistair. “Lady Isolde’s sent us all over Ferelden looking for the ashes. We tried to tell her that emperors and divines have been looking for the Urn for a thousand years without success, but hey, Her Ladyship’s Orlesian, they tend to be a bit dramatic. Luckily, most of us headed back home the instant we heard of the defeat.” He looked over at Rowena and winked. “What’s really lucky, though, is that you’ll be on the field with us, my lady. I doubt you remember this, but you flouted me thoroughly at the King’s Tournament two years ago.”

Rowena gave him a half-smile. “I flouted a lot of people at that tourney…”

“I can believe that,” Ser Roland said. “You were a terror in that wolf’s helmet. I’m just glad you’re on our side this time.”

“All the same, I think this’ll be a much different kind of fight,” she said. “What exactly can you tell us about fighting them? What are their strengths and their weaknesses?”

“Well, for one, they’re very strong,” Roland said. “Fast, too. Not too clever, though – can’t even carry a sword. Otherwise, they don’t seem to like fire. It’ll make them run away, but from what we can tell they’ll still keep fighting so long as they haven’t burned to ash. In order to kill them, a quick blow to the head seems to be the only thing that works.”

“Just like Eruestan said,” Rowena murmured to Alistair. “Anything else we should watch out for?”

Ser Roland shrugged. “Try not to get bitten?” He then frowned and looked up ahead at the village square. “What’s going on here?”

Rowena followed his gaze and paused. A crowd had formed around the village chantry, shouting nasty jeers and pelting things at someone she couldn’t see. Exchanging looks, the Wardens and the knights began running forward, the sky overhead now streaked with purple and dark blue.

A giant pile of wood had been set up in the middle of the square, which they skirted around as they reached the chantry. As she drew closer, Rowena was able to tell that Eruestan, Morrigan, and Leliana were standing with Bann Teagan in the center of the crowd. They were towering over a pale, shifty-looking elf who had been tied down to an armchair.

“Don’t play coy with us!” Teagan was yelling, thrusting a piece of paper in the elf’s face. “We have all the proof we need!”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know how that got there!” the elf said, looking wildly from face to face. “Let me go!”

“Whoa, hold on!” Rowena said, walking up to them. Cormac started growling at the crowd surrounding them, hushing most of the jeers and making most people take a few steps back. “What’s going on here?”

“Rowena, Berwick,” Eruestan said. Her friend looked tired, faint lines under his exhausted eyes. “Berwick, Rowena. Berwick’s been spying on Redcliffe, and we want to know who he’s working for.”

“What?” Alistair exclaimed angrily. “Are you serious?”

“It’s a lie!” the elf said hotly. “These people are crazy! I’m here for my brother! We’ve got business in Redcliffe!”

“This would be a lot easier if you would stop lying to us,” Leliana said angrily.  “We have evidence!” She took the note from Bann Teagan’s hand and passed it over to Rowena. “Look, I found this on him – it pretty much proves what he’s been doing.”

Rowena took the paper and read it over.

_Berwick,_

_Keep your eyes and ears open at Redcliffe. We need someone to pass us information on the inside. When this is all over, you’ll be handsomely rewarded for your efforts._

_A friend_

She stopped and peered closely at the paper. Her blood suddenly ran cold. She recognized the handwriting. “Who wrote this?” she asked, aware that her voice was oddly calm.

The elf gasped in frustration. “I keep telling you, I don’t—”

“Cormac,” she said sharply, still looking at the letter.

The hound barked viciously and lunged at the elf, who threw himself back in his chair in panic. “All right! All right, fine! Call him off! Call him off!” She snapped her fingers, and Cormac drew back, still snarling menacingly. “Th-thank you,” the elf said, shaking. “I’ll talk, okay? I’ll talk. This is getting way too dangerous for me, anyways.” He looked around at the stony faces looking down at him and shook his head. “Look, I’m being paid to watch the castle, okay? But that’s it, I swear. They never told me what I was supposed to look for – I’m just here to observe! I thought they meant when the arl got sick, but now with all these undead…things…I promise, I had no idea they were coming or even what they are, please believe me!”   

Rowena lost her patience. With a snarl, she kicked his chair over and threw herself on the ground, her face thrust into his. “ _Who’s paying you?_ ”

“Arl Howe,” Berwick squeaked. “Teyrn Loghain’s right hand man.”

All she could see was white; she had been right. She could feel her hand draw back to strike him, to funnel her rage into the only outlet she could find. But then Eruestan put a hand on her shoulders and led her away gently. “Calm down,” he said quietly. “We still need him.” She let out a deep breath and lowered her hand. Stunned into silence, Alistair helped one of the knights set the elf back straight again.

“This is unbelievable,” Teagan said, breaking the silence. “What does Rendon Howe care about Redcliffe? We’re two weeks’ ride to Amaranthine, we have nothing to do with him.”

“Something tells me Loghain’s hand is in here somewhere,” Alistair said bitterly. “I think he’d like to have Arl Eamon out of the way if he’s going after the throne.”

“This is all well and good, but the politics can wait,” Murdock spat. “The sun’s settin’ and we’ve still got this idiot to deal with.”

“Look, I never meant to hurt anybody,” Berwick pleaded, his face pale. “I saw a chance to make some money and I took it. I didn’t know I would be spying on anybody, honest! Please, don’t hurt me!”

“You’re in luck, elf,” the bann said, crossing his rooms. “Normally we don’t abide traitors in these parts, but tonight is a special occasion. Ser Eruestan, dress his wounds. He’ll be joining us in the fight.”

Berwick’s jaw dropped open. Shaking his head, Eruestan bent down and began tending to his injuries. Rowena shot the spy a death glare, then turned back to Teagan and Murdock. “Is the village ready?” she asked, putting a hand on her sword. The sun was finally beginning to dip below the roofline, casting long shadows over the square. Soon, the whole village would be plunged into night.

“For the most part. Owen’s sent his supplies out to the men, so at least everyone’s armed.” Teagan gestured to the massive pile of wood in the center of the village square. “We’re going to light the bonfire soon – we’ve found we can stall the beasts with flame.”

“Is there a strategy yet?” Alistair asked.

The bann nodded. “The knights and ground fighters are going to form two ranks around the bonfire. Whatever passes through the front line will hopefully be slaughtered by the second. Any corpse dies, we try and throw it directly into the fire. The able children and elders will be up on the roofs with the archers – we’ve sent up as many large rocks as we could find, so they should be able to help. Everyone else will be sealed inside the chantry with the sisters.”

Murdock snorted. “More like sealin’ them in their tomb,” he growled, spitting. “We’re a damned bunch of fools for lettin’ this madness keep goin’ on.”

“What, are we just supposed to let the arl and his family die up there?” Alistair asked.

“Should the people of this village die for that?” Murdock shot back. “The Arl’s _dead_ , lad. No one could have survived somethin’ like this!”

“That’s enough,” Rowena said sharply, preventing Alistair from yelling back at the mayor. “We’ve made our decision, it’s time to fight. Murdock, Teagan, are the men ready?”

“As ready as they’ll be, milady,” Murdock grumbled. “You’d best look at ‘em now, before they’re all corpses clawin’ for your neck.”

“That’s the spirit,” Rowena sighed. “Everyone, let’s get into formation before the attack starts!”

The sun finally finished setting behind the houses of the village. A tense night had replaced the day, pulsing with frantic energy.  Bann Teagan squinted up at the castle, his face grim. “That may be sooner than you think,” he said. He turned back to the chantry. “Men! Seal the doors and sound the alarm! They’re coming!”


	18. The Battle of Redcliffe

The chantry doors rumbled closed behind Rowena. They clanged shut just as the giant bonfire in the center of the square burst into flames, a tower of fire that roared into life and sent a wave of heat crashing over the men and women staring up at the castle. In the flush of light, Rowena could barely see up to the castle. The fighters standing with her had already hunkered down, however, their faces grim as they waited for the enemy to come. She, Cormac, Alistair, and Sten joined the knights of Redcliffe at the front lines, while Eruestan and Morrigan held back to form the rear defenses. Leliana, in the meantime, had already climbed to the roofs above the barricade, standing in wait with the rest of the village’s archers.

A clear moon had risen behind the castle, bathing it in shadow. Standing there in the dark, waiting for the battle to come, Rowena suddenly felt that she was back at Ostagar, staring at the horde for the first time. Steeling her resolve, she drew her blade and gripped it tightly. Cormac howled beside her, his cry echoing into the night.

Then she saw it. A thick cloud of dust had started billowing out of the castle doors, rushing down the distant path like a current of wind. “Men!” Bann Teagan barked, drawing his sword and holding it steady in front of him. “Hold your ground in front of the fire! Any soldier who breaks the line will have me and the Wardens to answer to!” The dust cloud was already halfway down the path leading to the village. Rowena could see strange, lurching shapes rambling inside, stumbling over themselves as they raced down towards the square. “Tonight, we end this!” the bann shouted, brandishing his blade. “Tonight, we send these bastards back to the void they came from! Tonight, we fight for Redcliffe!”

The soldiers gave a weak battle cry, shaking their weapons while still looking bleakly at the approaching cloud. Rowena slapped her sword against her shield, building up her energy. Even she had to admit, it was incredible to see how fast they were moving. They had already reached the bottom of the foothills surrounding the village, the dust rising up like a wall of mist in the distance. An odd, gargling keening had filled the night air as well, a sort of strangled howl that made the hair at the back of her neck stand up on end.

“Here they come!” Murdock bellowed, his head now covered with a thick iron helmet. “Archers, get ready! Aim for the heads and choke ‘em at the barricade!”

Rowena readied herself into a fighting stance as the archers on the roofs drew back their bows, faces steely yet white as the cloud rushed towards them. All of Redcliffe seemed to take a breath together, bracing themselves for the blow.

The undead crashed into the barrier just as the archers let fly their first volley of arrows. The sounds of splintering wood and terrible shrieks suddenly echoed through the night. The barricade groaned yet held fast, and for a moment, all Rowena could see of the army of corpses was the wall of dust lazily drifting over the barricade. Arrows were flying from the roofs of Redcliffe towards the other side of the barricade, but with no line of sight she had no idea whether their plans were working or not.

Then, after a few moments, the first head poked out over the barricade. An arrow suddenly smashed through it, and up above Leliana notched another missile into her bow. Two more corpses had taken its place, however, and suddenly the bodies were spilling out over the barricade, landing in the square and charging towards the village’s defenders.

Rowena let out a vicious war cry and charged forward, her sword flashing in the light from the bonfire. The things moved so quickly she was barely able to register what they looked like before she was facing her first one, its jaws snapping at her face. The Cousland sword sang out and sank itself deep into the creature’s side. It staggered, but continued lunging at her neck with its teeth, howling and shrieking in her ear. With a snarl, she pushed it back with her shield and slashed out again with her sword, lopping off its head.

There was no time to relish in her victory or even to get her bearings. Another two beasts had taken the first one’s place, tearing over themselves to get at her. With a well-placed kick, Rowena sent one of them flying and then pierced the second one’s head with her sword. Without hesitating, she then smashed the first one’s head in and drew back. Corpses were still streaming in, pouring over the barrier like ants and racing at the fighters. The front line was being overwhelmed; she plunged forward, taking on three, four corpses at a time. Beside her, Cormac was racing unseen through the undead, taking down bodies and crushing their heads between his jaws.

It was hard to tell what was happening, who was winning and who was falling. Rowena was spinning constantly, downing corpses left and right. She could barely see the faces of the former people she was slaying, her blade smashing in their skulls before she was able to see who they really were. The front line seemed to be holding firm, the knights and the Wardens pushing back against the undead. At times, she was vaguely aware of Sten or Alistair weaving in and out around her, their weapons slicing through the air and dealing death with every blow. Yet despite that, Rowena felt alone, one blade against a sea of howling, shrieking undead.

They were not difficult to kill – nothing like the darkspawn. She could tell that most of them were quite stupid, and destroying their heads was just a matter of getting her blade in the right position. The problem, however, was the sheer size of the undead army. No matter how hard she fought, no matter how many of them she killed, more and more corpses seemed to spill over the barricade, rushing at the front line with all the energy she could feel herself losing. An hour had passed, and then two, yet the undead army still showed no signs of stopping.

Suddenly, there was a terrible scream from her left. Rowena looked up after lopping off the head of the corpse in front of her to see that one of the knights of Redcliffe had lost his footing and was being swarmed, his arms twitching under the ravenous screeches of the undead. Stomach twisting, she rushed forward to help him. However, before she could, Bann Teagan appeared before her, his face smeared with gore as he fought off corpses of his own. “We can’t help him!” he shouted, hacking out with his sword. “We need to hold the line!”

As he said it, though, she could feel the front line’s resolve start to crumble. She pushed herself harder, urging herself to keep fighting, but knights were starting to fall to her left and to her right. She tried to press farther to keep the front line from being flanked, but with a snarl she realized that within moments they were going to be swarmed.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair fall to the ground a few feet away.

She reacted without thinking. Blasting corpses out of the way, she stepped behind the corpse pinning the knight to the ground and plunged her blade into the back of its skull. She lifted her shield to fend off any approaching undead, Cormac tackling a large body lunging to grab her. “Rowena, you should have left me,” Alistair gasped, blood spilling from the gaping wound in his shoulder. The corpse had bitten a hole right through his flesh. “The line—”

There was a flash of light somewhere behind them, and suddenly something rushed past them, attacking the corpses furiously and stopping their approach. Rowena straightened up and started. A giant spider, easily twice her own size, was attacking the undead army, moving impossibly fast and slicing corpses in half with its razor-sharp pincers. Rowena’s heart sank, horrified that another enemy had joined the fray. “What…what is that?” Alistair spat weakly, his face already white from blood loss.

Rowena looked between him and the beast, unsure if she should protect the knight or slay the spider. Eruestan, however, ran up to both of them and knelt over Alistair.

“It’s all right!” he said, trembling slightly as he looked at the vicious fight unfolding around them. “The spider’s Morrigan!”

Rowena looked back, stunned. Now that he said it, though, she could see that the spider was only attacking the corpses surrounding it, leaving the Redcliffe fighters alone. “ _It’s on our side_!” she shouted, leaping to her feet. “ _Leave it alone_!”

“Go!” Eruestan shouted. “Watch her back! I’ll take care of Alistair!”

* * *

Eruestan barely had time to look up at Rowena and Cormac as they disappeared towards the front of the battlefield. Thrusting his arms under Alistair’s armpits, he dragged the knight back towards the bonfire away from the fight. Sten, Bann Teagan, and the fighters from the back lines had rushed forward, pushing the corpses back to the barricade with Morrigan’s help. Putting Alistair’s shoulder in the firelight, Eruestan pulled back the knight’s shirt and examined his injury. Blood was pouring out of the wound onto the grass below, staining Eruestan’s hands as he peered closer to take a look. The corpse had bitten a chunk out of his shoulder, exposing muscle and sinew. Eruestan grimaced and took a deep breath, trying to remember what he had learned from the books at the Tower. “Alistair, I’m going to clean the wound and stop the bleeding,” he said over the chaos and the screaming. The knight stirred feebly beneath him. With a flash of light, he cast his cleaning charm. The bite was not quite as deep as he had thought it to be, which was reassuring. Taking a deep breath, he then leaned over the wound and focused his energies. He had never cast a scarring spell before, but he was almost certain he could remember the technique. Flexing out with his hand, he said, “ _Cicatrico_!” Instantly the wound began to scab over, stopping the blood flow spilling out of the wound.

“No, sit back,” Eruestan ordered as the knight tried to stand up. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, you need to stay here.” Unable to even respond, the knight merely nodded weakly before collapsing back to the ground.

The elf was finally able to look back on the fight, his heart pounding in his chest. Standing in the back, he had been able to fully realize what exactly they were up against. The corpses were hideous monsters, the shadows flickering from the bonfire making them all the more terrifying. Most of them looked ancient, half-disintegrated with time. Their eyes had long rotted away, and their skin was taut and decayed, revealing in parts the disintegrating muscles and tendons beneath. Only the few wisps of hair left on their skull and their sets of rotting teeth, now covered in blood and gristle, hinted at the people they had been in life.

Others, however, were more recent. They were more terrifying, however. While still relatively fresh, their faces were curled back in unrecognizable snarls, baring blackened teeth in their gore-filled mouths. Many had half-eaten faces and limbs, suggesting the horrors the people had gone through in their last minutes alive. Eruestan could barely keep his hands from shaking; dying like that would be terrible.

However, the battle seemed to be turning in their favor since Morrigan had thrown herself in the pitch. Eruestan watched the spider jump from corpse to corpse, slicing them in half even as they tried to race past her. He shuddered and had to look away. He had always hated spiders, ever since he was a child.

Morrigan was not the only impressive fighter, however. Sten was fascinating to watch, cutting through the battlefield with a graceful strength that seemed to belong to more than just one man. He moved Owen’s sword fluidly and powerfully, creating a ring of death around him that none of the undead seemed to be able to escape. Two corpses tried to lunge around him, but the Qunari cut both of them down in one stroke, slicing his sword through the air with frightening precision. Another approached him warily – Sten jabbed his blade through its stomach, then cut through its head. As the other three advanced, Sten swung his sword around like a dancer, lopping off all three of their heads. Eruestan was stunned; he was traveling with some truly frightening people.

Suddenly, there was a burst of activity from the far side of the square. A dwarf and two humans were scrambling towards them, their faces white. “The lake!” the dwarf yelled. “They’re coming up from the lake!”

Eruestan looked past him and went pale. A team of furious corpses was pounding after them, their shrieks echoing into the night around them.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Rowena and Morrigan were still fighting on the other side of the fire, unaware of the threat racing towards them from the other side. Alistair was stirring beneath him, the color slowly returning to his face. If the corpses swarmed through the square, the fighters would be swamped and the fight would be over. He was their last chance.

He rose to his feet, feeling completely helpless. His shields wouldn’t last long, and he couldn’t take them all out with any of the spells he knew. He needed more power, something more destructive. The heat from the bonfire was making it hard to think, and in just a few seconds the undead would burst into the square and attack them all.

Then he started. Running forward, he thrust his hand out towards the fire and yelled, “ _Faxo_!”

A stream of flame burst out of the bonfire and circled around him, racing hungrily towards the approaching corpses. The undead stumbled back and howled as the fire chased after them, licking at their heels and engulfing them, setting them ablaze. Eruestan felt his hands start to wobble, sweat pouring down his face from the heat and the effort. Still, he continued his spell, letting the stream of flame flow down the street and incinerate the approaching corpses.

Then his legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground. The path to the lake held nothing but scorched earth and smoldering bodies, columns of smoke rising up from the earth.

Silence had suddenly fallen over the square. The barricade lay still, no more corpses poking over the top. There was a flash of light, and the spider morphed back into Morrigan. The witch collapsed to one side, breathing heavily. “Is that it?” Alistair said, weakly, lifting up his head. “It’s over?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Eruestan said slowly. “It can’t be that easy…”

There was a giant burst of energy, and suddenly the barricade was smashed to pieces. Debris flew up and rained on the heads of the archers on the roof. Many fell with a cry; Leliana, however, managed to dance out of the way and jump down to the ground. Shocked, Eruestan looked past the debris and felt his heart stop. Standing beyond the barricade was a floating suit of armor, green light glowing in its hands as it approached the square.

“What is that?” Alistair said in horror. “Is it doing magic?”

Eruestan couldn’t breathe. “It’s a revenant,” he said, body seized with terror.

The knight looked back at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

Eruestan couldn’t answer, completely frozen in fear. A revenant was the result when a much stronger demon possessed a corpse, bringing with it terrible magic and a sharp, evil intelligence. He had only ever read about them before, but the accounts were terrifying: whole squadrons of Templars dragged to their deaths, entire villages left slaughtered in their wake.

The fighters left standing on the field eyed the monster uncertainly, their weapons still tensed as they waited for it to strike. Eruestan tried to rise to his feet to warn the others, but his legs still wobbled underneath him. “Stop!” he yelled finally, his voice cracking in fear. “Get away from it!”

It was too late. Two of the Redcliffe knights had started to run at the corpse, their blades flashing. The revenant thrust out one skeletal hand and sent them both flying back through the air. They collided into the chantry and fell to the ground, dead. One of the archers left on the roofs fired an arrow at the body, and without hesitating the revenant spun around and waved its hand, smashing the entire house to pieces.

The fighters left standing retreated quickly in terror. “What the hell is that?” Rowena yelled as she backed up towards them, not taking her eyes off the monster. “Cormac, no!” The hound had started to lunge at the floating corpse, but ran back to her, placing himself between the monster and his mistress.

“It’s a revenant,” Eruestan said, trembling as he rose to his knees. “It’s really, really bad.”

“Oh, you don’t say!” she snapped as another knight went flying past them, his neck snapped in half by the monster’s magic. “How do we kill it?”

Eruestan shook his head, still staring at the revenant. Its eyes were glowing a deep, evil red, like something from a nightmare. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I have no idea.”

Rowena flexed her sword and placed herself in front of Eruestan and Alistair. “Then I guess we’re going to find out,” she snarled, lowering her head behind her shield. “Leliana! Sten! Keep an eye out for Morrigan!”

At the sound of the witch’s name, Eruestan started. With a jolt of energy, he pushed himself to his feet and flopped down next to her, panting heavily. “Morrigan,” he gasped. “Your mother – did she…did she teach you anything to stop a revenant?”

Morrigan looked exhausted, barely able to look back up at him. He wondered how much energy her shapeshifting magic had to drain from her. “I may know something,” she murmured. “But Eruestan, I cannot – I doubt I can—”

“I’ll help you,” he said, trying to sound firm even as he felt his hands tremble. “We can do this together, I know we can.”

The revenant had reached the fire, making it wither and die with just a look. There were several screams in the square, but Eruestan kept looking at Morrigan’s face. The witch finally nodded, lifting herself up slowly. “Rowena, get ready,” she said, her voice cracking. “You won’t have another chance.”

The warrior nodded while still locking eyes with the monster, readying her sword in her grip. “Eruestan, the spell is ‘ _Freose al-walda_ ’,” Morrigan said, stumbling to her feet. “Think of not moving, of being frozen in place.”

He nodded, climbing up beside her. He took a deep breath and brought his hands together, channeling his magic into restrictive, oppressive energy. There was a rush of power and a burst of screaming in front of them, but neither broke their focus. Suddenly, they both flew their eyes open and thrust their hands out. There was a warping, keening sound as the moonlight seemed to bend around the corpse’s body, trapping it in place. Not hesitating an instant, Rowena raced forward and jumped through the air as the creature began to fall, slicing her blade out in front of her. The revenant’s head fell from its body with a flash of bright light, a pulse of energy knocking everyone in the square back a few feet.

Eruestan, however, did not realize this. His head had already started spinning, his vision already going black. As the rest of the village began to cheer, he and Morrigan collapsed to the ground, falling to the earth just as the battle of Redcliffe was won.


	19. Inside the Castle Walls

The sun was beating down on Rowena’s neck as she threw another body into the bonfire in the village square. All she could think of, however, was how much she needed a nap.

The more time she spent on the road, the more she was realizing how sheltered her life at Highever had been. She had always trained as intensely as any of the other warriors in her father’s service, earning every victory in the ring with her own fair share of bruises and beatings. Before, she had thought that that had made her tough. She was learning now, however, that toughness was more than just an intense bout of sparring or ignoring pain. Those meant nothing if afterwards you were promised a full meal and a full night’s sleep on a feather mattress. No, real toughness was endurance, barreling through fatigue and disgust without knowing when you could next relax. In this case, it meant fighting for your life all night and then staying up until dawn, tossing decaying corpses onto a giant fire.

She tossed the body and wiped her forehead, past the point of caring that the gore and the sweat had combined into a hideous sludge on her face. She would keep going, no matter how much her body ached and her eyelids dropped. She was tough; she had to be.

“You know, when they first pitched being a Grey Warden to me, they somehow managed to leave this part out,” Alistair huffed, throwing a decapitated body into the bonfire beside her. The knight looked about as awful as she felt she had to, his face so smeared with blood and sweat that she could barely recognize him. That didn’t matter, though. She was too tired to mind. “Now where’s the head…ah, there we go, I—oh, Maferath’s knickers, I know this man.” He stared awkwardly at the face he was holding for a second, then shrugged and threw it on the fire. “Sorry, Earl.”

“Were there this many last night?” Rowena asked wearily. Her memories of the night before were starting to blur together. She bent down and picked up another corpse from the wheelbarrow in front of them, careful to not rip the body any further apart. There was a terrible stench, one that both of them had already gotten used to. “It feels like there are a lot more now, for some reason.”

“Hey, if Bann Teagan’s right, we killed most of them last night,” Alistair said, heaving another body onto the bonfire. “Well, re-killed them. Or whatever we did to them. Anyways, I’d rather have more of them dead here than fighting like they did last night.”

“They weren’t so bad,” Rowena said absentmindedly. “The only scary one was that revenant thing, and even that went down easily enough.”

Alistair laughed, and somehow his smile seemed to shine through the layers of sludge and gore. “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by this anymore,” he said admiringly. “I don’t think you’ve ever been afraid of anything.”

She smiled back at him. “Nothing I can hack a sword into, at least.”

Rowena was pretty sure he was blushing underneath all the filth. “Well, if it weren’t for you and Sten, we probably wouldn’t have made it,” he said quickly, turning back to the bonfire as the Qunari approached them with a stack of bodies over his shoulder. “You two were practically an army all by yourselves. We were lucky you were there.”

“An understatement,” the Qunari said, throwing three corpses stacked neatly on top of each other on top of the flames. “Rowena luckily has the determination and courage of a soldier of the _Beresaad_.”

“The Beresaad?” Rowena asked. “What’s that?”

“The vanguard of the Qun,” Sten said. He hesitated for a moment. “My unit in the Qunari army.”

Rowena wasn’t sure what shocked her more, the fact that Sten had shared more about his past or the fact that he had paid her a compliment. “Thank you, Sten,” she said sincerely.

He grunted in response and flipped an entire wheelbarrow of corpses onto the fire.

“Good way to mark the moment,” Alistair said, watching the burst of smoke that rose up towards the sky. With a slight grimace, he looked back down and shrugged. “Well, that seems to be the last of them. Ah, good timing, too – look, there’s Leliana.”

The Orlesian was walking up to them with a deep grimace on her face. “ _Sainte Andrasté_ , that smell is awful,” she said, gagging. “And look at the three of you! You look terrible!”

“You’re one to talk, Leliana,” Alistair said. “Have you seen yourself?”

She held up a hand quickly. “No, and I’m not planning on taking a look, either.” She did admittedly look pretty bad, covered in filth and blood after hours tending to the wounded in the chantry with the sisters. “I just wanted to come let you know that Morrigan and Eruestan have finally woken up – neither of them are in danger anymore.”

“Well, that’s good news about Eruestan, at least,” Alistair said flatly.

“Oh, stop,” Rowena said, grinning broadly for the first time since they’d arrived in Redcliffe.  “Thank the Maker, though!” When the mages had collapsed in the middle of the night, at first she had thought that they had died. After she had realized that they had both merely lost consciousness, she had refused to leave either of their sides until the priestesses had carried them off to be treated. They had been convalescing in the chantry ever since. “Let’s head over now, we’re finished here. Cormac, here, boy!” Her hound bounded over to them from where he sat by the smithy, keeping his distance from the bonfire.

“What a horrible morning,” Leliana said, shuddering as they headed towards the chantry. “I haven’t been this filthy since the sewers backed up at the Comtesse de Rimballard’s summer gala.”

Rowena smiled at her. “You know, Leliana, you remind me a lot of someone I used to know.”

“Do I?” Leliana shot her a look. “I certainly hope this isn’t in relation to the sewers.”

“No, no, not at all,” Rowena said, trying to imagine how Sozinne would have reacted to just the word ‘sewer’. That thought made her heart ache, however, so she quickly dropped it. “She was Orlesian, too,” she said, her voice suddenly gruff. “You two would have gotten along.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” Leliana said coyly as they walked through the chantry doors. “After all, everyone hates Orlesians, including Orlesians themselves. Eruestan and Morrigan are in the back, though.”

The main hall was filled with even more people than had been there before, most bearing fresh injuries from the night before. The villagers’ spirits were much different, however. Instead of the hushed despondency that had hung over the crowd the day before, the village had come alive with activity, overjoyed to find that they had survived the worst of the corpse attacks. The wounded were chatting brightly to each other from their cots while children weaved between the aisles, giggling and laughing as they chased each other around the building. Rowena danced around a pair of them and headed towards the back, peering at some of the cots as she passed by. Redcliffe had not completely escaped the jaws of death. Several faces stared up ahead with empty eyes, unmoved by the sounds of life around them. One such face belonged to the shifty elven spy from the night before, his throat pierced by a piece of wood from one of the exploded buildings. It was all Rowena could do to keep from spitting on him as she passed. _Serves you right for working with Howe, you bastard_ , she thought, turning up her nose.

Finding Eruestan in the crowd wasn’t difficult. He was towards the back corner near the altar, struggling feebly against a team of chantry priestesses. Morrigan was already standing up beside him, the rest of the chantry giving her a very wide berth.

“Honestly, I’m _fine_ ,” he said, sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I can help heal, you need magic—”

“And you need to rest, ser mage,” the revered mother said. She was an older woman with grey-streaked hair and a pleasant enough smile as she was pushing the mage back onto his cot. “The sisters and I have already treated the worst injuries. The best way you can help is to regain your strength.”

Eruestan frowned at her. “With all respect, Your Reverence, that man is missing an _arm_ , I highly doubt you’ll be able to treat that—”

“Not even magic is capable of regrowing limbs,” Leliana said, walking up to him. “You’re weak, Eruestan! You need to recover!”

“Leliana, stop saying that – oh, Rowena, thank the Maker, there you are,” Eruestan said, seeking her out. “Please tell everyone that I’m more than able to help out!”

Rowena crossed her arms and shook her head. “Eruestan. You’ve been unconscious for the past seven hours. Do you honestly think I’m going to let you get off that cot?”

He scowled and leaned back down. “This is ridiculous! These people are hurt, I should be doing something!”

“Hey, count yourself lucky,” Alistair said. “We’ve been shoveling bodies onto a fire for the entire morning.”

Morrigan smirked, albeit with very tired eyes. “Ah, wonderful, Alistair, they finally found you duties that only slightly task your intelligence.”

“Rowena and Sten were helping, too,” Alistair said, scowling. “Are you gonna try and insult them as well?”

She shook her head. “‘Tis only natural that you have helpers – otherwise you might get confused.”

“At least I was doing something,” he shot back. “You’ve just been lying in here all morning.”

Rowena furrowed her eyebrows. “Well, that’s not really fair.”

“I know," he muttered. "I just don’t want her to win."

Eruestan rolled his eyes and looked up at Rowena. “I take it the fact that we’re still alive means we won?”

Rowena nodded. “According to Bann Teagan and Murdock, at least. Apparently we killed so many the castle might even be empty now – especially now that that revenant is dead.” She turned to Morrigan and smiled. “Good thinking, by the way, Morrigan. You saved us all.” The witch merely shrugged and looked away.

“Yes, thank you, Morrigan,” Alistair muttered, his voice strained. Looking a bit like he wanted to vomit, the knight cleared his throat and looked back at Eruestan. “Anyways, the bann says the village is safe now. The people watching the castle haven’t seen any more of the corpses on the ramparts – there might not even be another attack on the village tonight.”

“Maker be praised,” the revered mother said, bowing her head. “To think that such horrible creatures could exist under his gaze…”

“Thank the Maker indeed,” Leliana agreed, bowing her head as well. “We owe him our lives.”

“You owe Rowena and Eruestan your lives,” Morrigan said harshly. “By your own logic, your Maker sent these demons here in the first place.”

The revered mother sat up straight. “I beg your pardon?”

“She hit her head last night,” Rowena said quickly, jabbing the witch in the side. Morrigan glared at her but fell silent. “She should be fine in a few hours.

There was a commotion from the front of the church. They looked over to see Ser Roland burst into the building. “Grey Wardens!” he cried over the crowd, making his way through the sea of wounded. “Bann Teagan needs you right away at the edge of town!”

“What’s the matter?” Alistair asked. “Has there been another attack?”

“No,” Roland said. “It’s the arlessa – she’s left the castle!”

A while later, the group was slowly making its way up the hills outside the village, accommodating Eruestan and Morrigan’s weakened paces. The elf had insisted on coming along, and Morrigan had refused to be left behind. As they were the only two people in the village with any formal knowledge of demonology, the others had reluctantly agreed. Rowena, however, wasn’t complaining about the slower pace. Her body was aching for a bit of sleep – if they had gone any faster, she would have risked collapsing in front of everyone else.

“So the arlessa _is_ alive,” Leliana said approvingly, bounding ahead of the rest of them. Rowena had no idea where she found her energy. “That’s excellent news, isn’t it? That means that everyone else in the castle might have survived, too!”

“Maybe,” Eruestan said quietly at Rowena’s side. She looked over at him and frowned. “She might be possessed herself,” he said, sighing. “Honestly, seeing the kind of demons that were spilling out of the castle, I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.”

“How would we know if she is or not?” Rowena asked in alarm.

He shrugged, struggling to catch his breath. “It depends on how strong the demon is. If it’s powerful enough, only the people who really know her will be able to tell.”

Rowena wanted to ask him more; before she could, however, they arrived at the giant windmill that stood halfway between the castle and the village. There stood Bann Teagan, deep in conversation with a tall blonde woman wearing a beautiful gown. “Shite,” Alistair murmured. “Lady Isolde.”

Rowena stared appraisingly at the arlessa. She had known Isolde since she was a small child, yet she still had trouble fully figuring her out. The arlessa was a beautiful, haughty woman, her golden hair and rich velvet gown perfect despite the days of hell she had to have suffered through. Perhaps that made sense, though, given her colored past. Isolde had been the daughter of the Orlesian lord of Redcliffe during Ferelden’s occupation, herself born and raised in the castle. Incredibly, she had somehow managed to fall in love with Eamon Guerrin, son of the former Arl of Redcliffe. When King Maric chased Isolde’s father back to Orlais, she had decided to remain in Ferelden and marry her love. When Rowena had first heard this story, she had thought it was impossible that the fussy woman she knew could have been capable of so much courage. Her mother had merely shaken her head and said, “Isolde is Orlesian to the bone, but Fereldan in her blood.” Thinking about her mother now was too painful, however.

“It’s been awful, Teagan,” the arlessa was saying in her thick accent, unaware that the Wardens were approaching. “The dead have been rising for days – they have killed so many…I am so afraid, Teagan!”

“Isolde, slow down,” the bann said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Start from the beginning. How did this happen?”

She took a deep breath. “I—but who are these people, Teagan?”

The bann turned around and sighed in relief. “There you are, thank the Maker. Isolde, these are the Grey Wardens I spoke to you about earlier.”

“Grey Wardens?” The arlessa looked over them in disbelief, clearly unconvinced by the layers of filth covering all of them. Clearing her throat, she dropped into a curtsy before them. “ _Quelle honneur_ – Lady Rowena, is that you?” The arlessa dropped her façade, her eyes wide with shock.

Rowena curtsied. “I believe I’m not the only face you’d recognize, Lady Isolde.”

“What do you mean, my lady?” she asked, looking over the others. “Is there someone— _Alistair_?” The knight, who had been furiously studying the ground, jumped a good few feet into the air. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, hanging around, killing the undead, the usual…” He coughed. “So things have been…bad, then?”

Isolde stared at him coldly and turned back to Bann Teagan. “The situation is so much worse than you can imagine,” she said. “Nearly all the men and women living in the castle are dead. Eamon is at death’s door and Connor is in grave danger.”

Bann Teagan frowned, still holding Isolde’s hand in his own. “Connor is in danger? How? What’s happened?”

“I cannot explain now!” Isolde cried, breaking her hand away. “I have very little time! Those beasts told me I could only come to finish my mission, no more!”

“Mission?” the bann asked. “What mission?”

 Isolde clutched his hand again and looked pleadingly into his face. “Teagan, you must come back to the castle with me – alone!”

The group was silent for a moment as those words sunk in. “That is an extremely bad idea,” Eruestan said, still panting slightly from the climb.

The arlessa whipped around to stare at him in shock. “Who is this elf, Teagan,” she snapped, her face white. “And why does he speak to me so rudely?”

“Ser Eruestan is a Grey Warden from the Circle of Magi, Isolde, and I have to say I agree with him,” Bann Teagan replied. Rowena noticed that the corner of Eruestan’s mouth twitched slightly, but the elf didn’t say anything further. “For three days monsters have been pouring out of the castle and attacking the village, and now you want me to follow you without any explanation at all?”

“But I do not know more than you do!” she cried, her cheeks flushing. “What would you have me explain? We have captured the mage responsible and yet the attacks do not stop! The dead still roam the halls – we are helpless!”

“Wait, there was a mage inside the castle?” Eruestan asked, frowning. “How?”

Isolde suddenly looked a little uncomfortable. “I…I do not know how exactly he came to Redcliffe,” she said slowly. “‘He was, however, poisoning my husband. He claims to have been hired by Teyrn Loghain – I do not know if this is true, but I am certain that he has sent these monsters against us out of anger from being caught!”

Alistair’s face had gone dark. “Loghain,” he spat. “Of course he’s behind all this.”

Teagan looked grim. “If that’s true, this could be far worse than we feared. But there’s time for that later.” He turned back to the arlessa. “This mage, Isolde – have you tried to get him to end his spells?”

She huffed and nodded. “Of course I have! And of course he claims to be innocent – but Teagan, I am not sure he could end it even if he wanted to. These beasts are so powerful…oh Teagan, please come with me! I begged the beasts to let me bring you to the castle, you must hurry – I am afraid they will hurt Connor and Eamon if I wait too long!”

“Lady Isolde, you can’t be serious,” Rowena protested. “Send him there alone? He’ll be killed the minute he walks through the doors!”

“And why should that be, Lady Rowena?” Isolde retorted, looking back at her coldly. “They have spared me, my husband, and my son until now – why should they not spare Teagan as well?”

Rowena was not convinced. “At least let us come with, too, then.”

“ _No_!” Isolde cried. They all started and stared at her. “I promised that only Teagan would come,” she said desperately. “It – I mean they will be so angry if there are any more with us. And the things they do when they are angry...” Her voice trailed off as she turned to her brother-in-law with tears in her eyes. “Teagan, I know you can give orders to have your men follow us into the castle if you like, but I beg you, do not. If those monsters see more soldiers approaching, they may hurt Connor!”

“What good does sending him there alone do?” Rowena said angrily. “If no one else can go, Bann Teagan should stay here, we can figure out a plan from the outside and then—”

“I’ll go,” the bann said, cutting her off.

“ _What_?” the group said in unison.

“That’s ridiculous!” Leliana said. “You can’t seriously think that—”

“I can.” Teagan had a strange look on his face as he stared at Isolde. Rowena suddenly remembered a few whispered rumors she’d heard among the servants at Highever, about how Teagan always left his door unlocked whenever he stayed in Redcliffe Castle. “If my brother needs my help, I’ll do what it takes to save him.”

“Oh, _Créateur soit loué_ ,” Isolde said, tears forming in her eyes. “Come, hurry! We do not have much time!”

“Just a minute, Isolde, please,” Teagan said, turning to the others. “I need to speak with the Wardens in private.”

Isolde paused, eyes suddenly wary. “All right…but please be quick! Time is running out.”

“You won’t even realize I’m gone, Isolde.” Teagan led the group over to the windmill. It was a large, squat stone tower with thick, heavy sails that creaked loudly as they spun, covering their voices as Teagan began to whisper to them. “All right, so, here’s the plan—”

“Plan? What plan?” Rowena snapped, cutting him off. “Walking in there alone? That’ll only get you killed and you know it!”

“You’re probably right,” Teagan said, holding out a hand. “Luckily, I’m not going in alone.”

“The arlessa said the corpses would kill you if more people approached from the gates,” Alistair said, frowning.

“That may be so. There is, however, another entrance into the castle.” He gestured to the windmill’s entrance. “There’s a tunnel that connects this windmill to the castle dungeons. It’s meant as an escape route for the family in times of trouble.”

“Glad to see it was put to good use, then,” Sten said.

“I don’t know why Isolde didn’t try to use it to get out,” Teagan said a little stiffly. “And I didn’t want to use it to get in before I knew what was waiting for us on the other side. Now that most of the corpses are killed, though, you can cross through it to get into the castle and give me some backup.”

“People do love risking our necks for us, do they not?” Morrigan muttered.

“I still don’t like this,” Eruestan said. “What if we don’t reach you in time? What if whatever’s taken over the castle takes ahold of us, too?”

“For lack of better option, we don’t worry about that yet.” Teagan pulled a ring off his finger. “If anything happens to me, do whatever it takes to protect Isolde and her family. In the meantime, take this.” He handed Alistair the ring. “The Guerrin seal opens the door to the tunnel – place it in the slot and turn it to the right. I’ll head in through the gates and try to distract whatever’s in there while you enter from below.”

Alistair took the ring and stared at the bann soberly. “I don’t know if this is a good plan, Teagan” he said.

“Well, hopefully it’s one that will work,” the bann said. “I have to go – give us a half hour, then head into the mill. I don’t want Isolde to know that you’re coming.”

“Understood,” Alistair said. “Maker watch over you, Bann Teagan.”

“And you as well,” the bann said. With that he left to join the arlessa, the two of them turning around to head up towards the castle.

The group stood tersely around the windmill for the next half-hour, kept silent by fatigue and nerves. Leaning up against the tower’s walls, it was all Rowena could do to keep from dozing off. Finally, after about half an hour of jolting herself awake, she stretched her back and turned to the others. “Ok, that should be enough time. Eruestan, Morrigan, you two stay here and keep watch. We’ll let you know when it’s—”     

“Oh, no, you don’t,” the elf cried. “This time, you really do need me – I’ve been studying demons since I was eight, I know more about them than any of you.”

“You have not lived with my mother,” Morrigan murmured.

“See? You need both of us!” Eruestan said. “Besides, I feel totally fine now – this is no big deal.” His knees buckled before all of them. “Er…I meant to do that.”

Rowena sighed. The elf was irritatingly persistent when he felt he could be useful. “Just don’t pass out down there, we _will_ leave you behind.”

“No, we won’t,” Alistair mouthed behind her. Eruestan grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.

The group made their way up towards the windmill, Eruestan struggling slightly to keep up. Walking up to the building, Rowena pushed its door open and led everyone inside. The mill was dimly lit, the only light trickling in from a small window overhead. Piles of flour were strewn about the room, and there was still a bundle of wheat in the grindstone. Whoever the miller was, he hadn’t bothered collecting his things after the attacks had started. “Hm…I don’t see any tunnel entrance…”

“It’s probably in the floor,” Leliana said, bending down. “Try looking under that straw pallet, I bet there’s…aha!” She lifted a mat underneath a layer of straw, revealing a square trapdoor.

“How did you know that?” Rowena asked in amazement.

She shrugged. “Finding secret passageways into noblemen’s houses was another one of my specialties.”

“Ok, seriously, time out,” Alistair said. “Leliana, what the hell did you do before you joined the Chantry?”

She hesitated. “I hardly think this is the time to—”

“I think we’d all care to know that, actually,” Rowena said, crossing her arms.

“I wouldn’t.”

“I think we all could figure that out for ourselves, Sten,” she sighed. “But honestly, Leliana? fighting, seduction, breaking and entering…where did you learn all of that?”

She lifted her chin, clearly trying to keep her dignity. “Well, I was a traveling minstrel in Orlais.”

Rowena gasped; she was the only one to react, though. “You were a bard?”

“That is another word for it, yes,” Leliana replied.

“So…she was a singer?” Eruestan asked.

“A dancer, too, I think,” Alistair piped in.

“It’s a bit more than that,” Rowena said slowly. This was an unpleasant development. The Couslands had only spent a week at the Imperial Court in Val Royeaux, but that had been more than enough time to see the role the Orlesian bards played in the deadly intrigues of the empire’s aristocracy. True, the bards did sing and dance; however, they also spied, seduced, sabotaged, and killed. They were dangerous, deceitful men and women that were not to be trusted.

Leliana must have seen the look on her face, however, because she tutted impatiently and said, “Every minute we waste out here is another moment where the bann’s life is in danger. Let us get going.”

“Uh…right, right…” Still clearly bemused, Alistair took the signet ring and found the hole corresponding to it in the trapdoor. Placing the ring inside, he pushed down and with a rush of air unsealed the door. He pulled it up to reveal a large, dark hole that stretched down into darkness. “Um…anyone have a light?”

“Here.” Eruestan stepped in front of him and held out his hand, summoning a small white light. His knees buckled slightly again, and Rowena shot him a shrewd look. She could tell that the fight from the night before had still left him drained. Still, the mage leaned forward, casting his spell further down the tunnel. There was a drop of a few feet below them, and then the passage curved off out of sight. Taking a deep breath, Rowena stepped in front of him and jumped down, leading the way into the passage.

The air was cool and damp, worlds away from the summer heat they had just left. Wet moss clung to the walls and shot up in the ruts of the stone floor. The tunnel had been hand-carved out of the hills of Redcliffe, twisting and turning as it made its way toward the castle. Whoever had been in charge of its construction had not been particularly good at his or her job; the stonework was irregular and hard to walk across, often making them stumble. The group walked mainly in silence, the quiet occasionally punctured by the sounds of someone tripping.

“What do you think we’re going to find once we get there?” Alistair asked finally, stepping over a large crack.

“Likely our deaths, the way this plan is heading,” Morrigan said. “Although it does seem that we shall be possessed and reanimated afterwards, so that is promising.”

“You know, that’s what I like about you, Morrigan,” he said bluntly. “You’re always so optimistic.”

“You show me the optimism in this situation,” she replied. “The creatures we faced last night killed indiscriminately – why should they spare the bann? Because this woman asked politely? No, he will be dead once we find him and we will follow suit.”

“The rest of Arl Eamon’s family has survived this far,” Leliana pointed out. “Why shouldn’t Bann Teagan?”

“I actually have a question about that,” Alistair said. “How do we know Lady Isolde isn’t just possessed? Like, maybe the demons killed Eamon and Connor and possessed her, and now they’re trying to kill Teagan too?”

“That is quite a good point,” Leliana said in horror. “Maker’s breath, Alistair, why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“I didn’t think of it then,” he said, pained.

“Eruestan did,” Rowena said, looking over at the elf. “It was the first thing he thought of when the arlessa came out of the castle.”

“Oh!” Both Alistair and Leliana looked surprised. “Really?”

Eruestan nodded, clearly focusing on keeping his light alive. “Why else do you think I was so insistent on coming?”

“Because you’re a perfectionist with a savior complex and the dire need to prove yourself?”

“So why didn’t _you_ say anything, Eruestan?” Leliana asked, ignoring the black glare the elf was shooting at Alistair.

“Because Lady Isolde unwittingly gave me all the proof I needed to know she wasn’t,” he replied, still glowering at the knight. “She recognized Alistair and Rowena – a demon outside of the Fade wouldn’t have had access to her memories like that. The arlessa’s alive and unpossessed, I’m assuming that means the same is true for the arl and Con—did you hear something?”

The group stopped and listened. The tunnel turned around a corner a few feet ahead of them, its end bathed in shadows. A low howling was coming from wherever it led. “Maybe it’s the wind?” Alistair whispered.

Rowena frowned and turned the corner. A large oak door lay at the end of the tunnel a few feet down. The howls, which were getting louder and louder, were coming from behind it. Cormac pulled back his lips and began to snarl.  “Oh, relax, everyone. This is, what, the seventeenth ominous door we’ve come across in the past month? Let’s just get ready for whatever it is now.” She, Sten, and Alistair drew their swords while Leliana notched back an arrow and Eruestan and Morrigan headed to the back. With a nod to Rowena, Eruestan closed his hand and bathed the corridor in blackness. “All right, one, two, three -- _charge_!” she screamed, kicking the door open.

They rushed in and stopped in shock. They were in a part of the castle dungeons, illuminated by flickering torches. Cells lined the walls; in each one, a reanimated corpse was lunging at them, restrained by the dungeon’s iron cages.

“Well, ‘ominous was an understatement,” Eruestan said, staring in disgust at the nearest ghoul who was banging its head against the metal door.

“Is someone there?” a voice cried from the end of the hall. “Someone living, I mean?”

Rowena started. “Hello?” she called, tensing her sword. “Who’s there?”

Eruestan’s face had gone white. “I know that voice,” he whispered, his eyes wide.

Rowena looked back at him in shock, but the elf seemed to be at a loss for words. Facing the end of the hallway, she brandished her blade and cleared her throat. “Show yourself!” she said, walking past the cells, ignoring the corpses within.

“I’m in the last cell on the left,” the voice said. Rowena walked forward slowly, not sure what she was expecting to find hidden in the back cell of a dungeon filled with undead. As they reached the back of the hall, however, she lowered her sword in shock. Standing in the last cell was a pale young man with greasy hair and tattered mage robes. His face was smeared with dirt and what appeared to be dried blood. His hands in particular were bound by strange handcuffs that were glowing with odd carvings. Rowena and the mage both blinked at each other, each clearly shocked to find another living person trapped in the dungeon. Then the mage started grinning broadly. “Maker’s breath, am I glad to someone new,” he said. “I thought I was going crazy here by my— _Eruestan?_ ”

Rowena blinked and looked over to the elf, who seemed to be half stuck in a trance. “Jowan,” he said.

The two mages stared at each other for a moment, the howls of the undead echoing in the corridor behind them. Rowena looked back and forth between them, suddenly feeling a little bit awkward. “So,” she said. “You two, uh, know each other?”

The mage named Jowan didn’t seem to hear her. “What are you doing here?” he asked Eruestan in shock. “I thought for sure that they killed you back at the Tower!”

“And whose fault would that have been?” Eruestan yelled. Rowena started and looked back at her friend. The elf was trembling, his face contorted with rage. “You stabbed us in the back and left us for dead! If the Grey Wardens hadn’t recruited me, I would have been killed!”

“The Grey Wardens?” Jowan shook his head in disbelief. “You’re a Grey Warden. Bloody figures…you even get kicked out of the Tower better than me.”

“Shut up,” Eruestan snapped.

“So, uh, sorry to interrupt,” Alistair said, stepping forward. “But Eruestan, who exactly is this?”

Eruestan kept glowering at Jowan. “He’s…he _was_ …my friend from the Tower.”

“ _Best_ friend,” Jowan corrected.

Eruestan glared at him. “I _really_ would not push your luck right now.”

“Look, I’m sorry about what happened at the Tower,” Jowan said, grabbing the bars of his cell. “I only started learning blood magic to help me get out of the Circle, I was going to give it all up the instant Lily and I escaped!”

“Wait, he’s a blood mage?” Alistair said, sword suddenly tense. Rowena started and lifted her own blade as well. “Your best friend was a blood mage?”

Eruestan felt his ears flush. “I didn’t know it at the time…but yes, yes he was.”

Alistair turned back to the prisoner. “So you’re the mage the arlessa was talking about.”

Jowan went a little pale, eyeing his sword warily. “Ah. You’ve spoken with the arlessa.”

“Yes, Jowan, we have,” Eruestan said. “And before you try to wiggle your way out of this, we also know that you tried to poison the arl. I don’t think it’s a stretch of the imagination to assume you started whatever this is, too.” He pointed at the corpse next to him, which lunged at his outstretched finger.

He dropped his head. “I did poison the arl,” he muttered. “You’re right there. But I didn’t summon these demons! I don’t know anything about them!”

“That’s likely,” Eruestan snapped.

“Let him speak, Eruestan,” Morrigan said. Everyone started and looked over at her. “Everyone has a right to defend themselves.”

“I know him, Morrigan,” he replied coldly. “We can’t trust him.”

“Eruestan, I know I betrayed you,” Jowan said. “But this time you have to believe me! Teyrn Loghain’s men captured me the instant I got to Denerim—the teyrn said Lady Isolde was looking for an illegal mage and that I was to use that as a cover to poison Arl Eamon. He was already a little ill at that point, so Teyrn Loghain said no one would suspect me once things started getting worse. He said the arl was a threat to Ferelden and that if I did it, he’d figure out a way to get me back into the Circle.”

Eruestan suddenly went deathly still. “Back _into_ the Circle?”

Jowan nodded sadly. “It was all I wanted at that point.”

Before Rowena could realize what was happened, Eruestan had flung himself at the bars of Jowan’s cell, shaking them back and forth in fury. “Are you _kidding_ me? Everything you put us through and you want to go _back_?”

“It’s _bad_ out here, Eruestan,” Jowan whined, taking a few steps back from the bars. “Everyone’s afraid of mages, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages, and the food is awful!”

“He does have a point there,” Leliana muttered.

Eruestan didn’t seem convinced. “Jowan, I am going to _strangle_ you—”

“Ok, let’s just calm down,” Rowena said, gently pushing her friend back. “We all need to focus. Why are you here, Jowan? What did Lady Isolde want with an illegal mage? The Circle would have sent healers for free if she had asked.”

Jowan hesitated. “I wasn’t sent here to heal the arl.”

“So you’re here to do party tricks?” Alistair asked, eyeing one of the corpses near him that had started snapping at his hand.

“It’s Connor,” Jowan said. “He’s started showing signs of magic. The arlessa was terrified the Templars would take him away if anyone found out, so she started looking for illegal tutors that could train him to hide his powers. Of course Teyrn Loghain heard about it, and that’s how I ended up here.  If you ask me, I think Connor might be the one who’s started all this.”

“Maker’s breath, Jowan, how much blood magic did you teach him?” Eruestan asked in horror.

“I didn’t teach him _any_ blood magic, Eruestan,” Jowan said. “Besides, he’s too young to cast any of the spells that would summon anything this powerful. But he might have attracted something from across the Fade, which would explain the tear in the Veil.”

“Connor’s a mage?” Alistair said, eyes wide. “I don’t believe it…”

“Neither do I,” Eruestan said. “He’s a liar.”

“Eruestan,” Jowan said, leaning against the bars of his cage. “I’ve done a lot of bad things in the past, especially to you – but you have to believe me, I want to change that. I want to fix this! Please, let me help!”

The mage sounded sincere enough to Rowena. She turned back to Eruestan. “What do you think?”

The elf, however, was already shaking his head. “I trusted you once, Jowan,” he said. “You’re a maleficar. How could anyone believe anything you say after what you’ve done?”

“If he want to redeem himself, let him!” Leliana said. “Everyone deserves a chance to change the past.”

“You don’t know Jowan like I do, Leliana,” Eruestan said bitterly.

“I cannot believe I am about to say this,” Morrigan said, “but I agree with Leliana. The only crime this man has committed is breaking the foolish rules your Chantry has set upon magic. If he wishes to help resolve the situation, all the better.”

“I have to say, I think I agree with them,” Rowena said gently. She wasn’t what exactly had happened between the two of them; it might even have been a lover’s quarrel, although frankly she felt Eruestan could do much better. All that was unimportant, however, if Jowan was able to help end what was going on in the castle.

The elf had started to shake violently, however, and suddenly she had the feeling that there was more to the story than she had first thought.  “Look, I’ve never told any of you why I left the Tower, have I?” he asked, his voice cracking. She shook her head with the others, her heart suddenly in her throat. Eruestan had been as mysterious about his past as the other, and she had long since given up hope that she would ever hear his story. He took a deep breath and started speaking. “Well, the day after my Harrow—er, the day after I became a fully-initiated mage, Jowan asked—no, _begged_ me to help him break out of the Circle along with his girlfriend, an initiate in the Chantry. He told me he had been falsely accused of being a blood mage, that he was going to become Tranq—er, that he was going to have his connection to the Fade severed if I didn’t help. So I did. I helped find what we needed to set him free. Then we got caught. Turns out, Jowan was a blood mage after all – he used us to make his escape. He used his blood magic to attack the First Enchanter and the Commander of the Templars and then disappeared without a trace. If Duncan hadn’t been there, I…well, it wouldn’t have been pleasant.” He shuddered and dropped his head. “That’s why we can’t trust him,” he said firmly. “That’s why I’m not buying the ‘redemption’ pitch.”

The room was silent for a moment. Rowena bit her lip. She could tell the story had taken a lot out of Eruestan, and she knew that for someone like him who so valued rules and always wanted to help, a betrayal like that would be one of the worst things anyone could do. Still, the concept of blood magic itself was so foreign to her that she could hardly tell what to think.

Finally, Leliana cleared her throat. “People can change, you know,” she murmured.

“Sure, but can blood mages?” the elf replied.

“Eruestan, please,” Jowan said, his voice shaking. “You used to be my best friend – my only friend. I know I don’t deserve to call you that anymore – still, if that friendship ever meant anything to you, please, please give me a chance! I’ve made so many mistakes, but I have changed since then! I realize what I’ve done!”

Eruestan crossed his arms.

“Will you free this mage or not?” Sten said suddenly from the back.

“I will not,” Eruestan said firmly.

Sten pulled a knife from his belt and handed it to him. “Then kill him and let us move on.”

Eruestan blinked. “What?”

“Kill him,” Sten said. “You say he can’t be trusted and that he’s likely behind all the goings-on in the castle. Why spare him then? Put an end to his life and punish him for his crimes.”

“You cannot be serious!” Leliana cried in horror. “How can you kill a man who wishes to correct his wrongs?”

“He _is_ a maleficar, though,” Alistair said, uneasy. “I’m not an expert, but I have seen some of what they can do, and Eruestan’s right, that type of magic is extremely dangerous.”

“Killing a mage for practicing magic is the act of a fool,” Morrigan said sharply. “Birds are not killed because they can fly.”

Eruestan turned slowly to Jowan, who looked even paler. “You’re not seriously thinking about killing me, are you?” he said nervously. “A-are you?”

The elf closed his eyes and turned to Rowena. “What do you think?”

She winced. In all honesty, she had no idea what to think. “I don’t like the idea of slaughtering someone trapped in a prison cell…” she said slowly. “But you do know him best. If you really think he’s that much of a threat, it might be best to deal with him now rather than give him a chance to do something worse.”

Eruestan stared back at his former friend, Sten’s dagger still clutched in his hand. Rowena was holding her breath without realizing it. She knew Eruestan wasn’t a killer, but then she had never seen him as furious as he had been when he had seen Jowan. And maybe it would be for the best to kill him now? Though she knew next to nothing about blood magic, she was aware that it carried terrible power, able to inflect awful pain and control the victim’s mind. The shrieking of the corpses around them seemed to grow louder, as if the whole room was waiting for Eruestan to make a decision.

Suddenly, the elf dropped the dagger and looked away. “Let him stay in his cell,” he said. “I won’t kill him, but I’m not letting him out, either. We can decide what to do with him once we figure out what’s going on in the castle.”

Jowan nodded slowly. “I guess that’s the best I could expect…and Eruestan?” The elf didn’t look up. “You don’t have to tell me this, but…what happened to Lily? The idea that she’s suffering because of something I did is killing me.”

Eruestan froze for a second, then looked Jowan in the eyes. “I…I don’t know, Jowan,” he said. “They took her away just before I left, but Greagoir didn’t say where.”

“That bastard,” Jowan said with a sad smile. “Just like him to screw us over when it matters the most, right?” Eruestan smiled faintly, his eyes still heavy. “But…thank you for telling me, Eruestan.”

Eruestan nodded and then turned away abruptly. “Let’s go,” he said to the others. “We’ve wasted enough time here, Bann Teagan needs us.”

Once they turned around the corner, Eruestan slumped against the wall without warning. “Eruestan!” Rowena cried in alarm, running forward.

“I’m f-fine,” he said, waving her off. She hovered behind him in concern, half-expecting him to faint again. Taking a deep breath, the elf steadied himself and pushed away from the wall. “I’m sorry,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair. “That just – it was a lot.”

“It can’t have been easy,” Leliana said gently. “It takes a lot to forgive a friend.”

He shot her a quick look. “I haven’t forgiven anyone,” he said hotly. “I just thought we needed to keep moving.”

“I’ll take the lead from here,” Alistair said, looking at Eruestan in concern. “I know the castle best, I can take us to the great hall with no problem.”

They began to continue down the hallway, the shrieks of the undead fading behind them. Rowena felt a pang of guilt at leaving Jowan alone among them – then again, she told herself, seeing as he was likely the reason the castle was full of undead in the first place, he supposed it was rather fitting.

They climbed up a dimly lit staircase and soon found themselves in a large corridor. There was a strange energy in the air, almost as if a slight electrical current were flowing through the castle. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling – strangely, Rowena started to feel less and less tired with each step she took. Alistair led them up a flight of stairs and through a series of rooms and hallways. The halls of Redcliffe reminded her a bit of home; the décor was different, but high ceilings and fine carpets were oddly reminiscent, as if she had gone back in time. That was where the similarities ended, however. Redcliffe was eerily silent, and there were signs of struggle all throughout the castle. Most of the rooms were completely ruined: blood splattered walls, broken furniture, and smashed-in doors. There were no bodies to be found, however.

“This is so creepy,” Alistair said as they walked past a series of servants’ rooms that had been torn to pieces. “Everything is way too quiet.” At that moment, something rustled from the other side of a closed door right next to him.

The group froze and shot each other a series of looks. “Corpses?” Rowena mouthed.

Alistair shrugged and slowly drew his sword. Collecting himself, he bared his teeth and burst the door open, yelling a giant battle cry.

He barged in on a young woman huddled in a corner, who took one look at all their drawn weapons and began screaming frantically.

“Shite!” Alistair quickly lowered his sword. “Sorry! Thought you were dead!” The girl continued to scream, eyes wild. “Ok, someone take over here.”

“It’s all right!” Rowena said, stepping forward. “We’re alive, too!” The girl kept screaming. “You don’t need to do that, we’re here to help!” More screaming. “Ok, honestly, what’s the plan here?”

“Oh, let me take care of this.” Leliana knelt down and smacked the girl across the face. Spluttering, the panic went out of her eyes as her screaming subsided. “There we go,” Leliana said gently. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m…I’m fine,” she stammered. She was a pretty, young girl with sandy-blond hair and a slight gap in her teeth. “I’m s-sorry, I’ve just been trapped in this room for th-three days, listening to those th-things kill everyone…it’s been a little…upsetting…” She shook her head. “Forgive me, I’m Valena. I’m the arlessa’s maid.”

“Valena?” Rowena said, starting. She recognized that name. “Are you Owen’s daughter?”

She started. “You know my father?”

“Know him?” Alistair snorted. “He practically threw us over the castle walls himself to bust you out of here.”

“That sounds like Da,” she said, smiling slightly. “Is…is he all right? Did those beasts hurt him?”

“He’s fine,” Rozena said. “Although his liver might need a bit of attention in a few years.”

Valena shuddered softly and gave a gasp of relief. “Blessed Andraste…please, I need to get back to my home. The castle’s been quiet for hours now – is it finally safe to leave?”

Alistair nodded. “Head out through the servant’s entrance – this part of the castle is quiet for now.”

“Th-Thank you,” she said, eyes shining. “I’ll be fine if most of those creatures are gone – I’m a fast runner and I know the castle. Thank you so much!”

“Well, at least there is one happy ending in this story,” Leliana said as they watched Valena disappear around a corner.

“True,” Morrigan said, “especially if one disregards the years of trauma that will follow three days spent trapped in a castle full of undead monsters.”

“That’s the spirit,” Rowena sighed. “Come on, let’s get to the bann.”

Alistair led them through the many twisting halls of the castle. As they approached the great hall, he stopped suddenly, a strange look on his face. “Do you hear that?” he asked, frowning. The group stood still for a moment, straining to hear anything in the complete silence of the castle. Then, out of nowhere, a faint sound of music began drifting through the halls.

“Ok, this just got upgraded to _super_ creepy,” Rowena said.

As they drew closer to the hall, the music grew louder and more jarring. Whoever was playing sounded as if they’d never picked up an instrument before, hacking and blaring the music like cats in an alley. The massive wooden doors leading to the great hall were closed, muffling the tunes pouring from inside. Cormac started snarling at them, a shiver running through his fur. At her side, Eruestan suddenly gasped, his spine straight.

“There’s powerful magic at work here,” he murmured. “We should be careful.”

Rowena nodded, narrowing her eyes. “What do you think’s waiting for us?”

“No idea,” he replied.

She looked over at him. “They didn’t cover demonic possession at the Circle?”

“Oh, they did,” he said. “However, their policy was usually just ‘kill everything in sight before the situation gets out of control.’ Not very useful if we want to take a diplomatic approach…”

“Well, our priority should be protecting Connor,” Alistair said nervously. “Whatever’s going on, the poor kid’s probably terrified.”

The group pushed open the doors and stopped short. Rather than a bloodbath, they had walked into what seemed to be a fairly morbid dinner party. A small group of corpses had grabbed harps and lutes and were strumming them haphazardly, creating a grotesque orchestra that had no idea what it was playing. Three sets of living guards were dancing up and down the hall with each other, bowing and nodding as if they were at a ball at the Winter Palace in Orlais. Perhaps most bizarre, however, was Bann Teagan, who was doing cartwheels up and down the hall.

“ _Wheeeee_!” he shouted, flying past them. “Grass is green and the sky is blue, I’m mad as bats and so are you!”

Leliana gagged. “That’s terrible poetry.”

“What is going on here?” Alistair asked in horror, brandishing his sword.

“Connor,” someone said weakly from the back of the room, “Connor, please, stop this madness!”

“Silence, woman!” a horrible, distorted voice yelled back. “You’re ruining my fun!”

Cormac began barking violently as the group looked up to see Arlessa Isolde standing on a dais next to a small boy. Rowena recognized him instantly: it was Connor, Arl Eamon’s son. His normally messy red hair had been flattened against his forehead, however, and his young face was twisted in a cruel grimace as he gleefully watched the bann do a series of backflips through the hall. “This is the best thing to happen to this castle in ages, you old cow!” he crowed.

Eruestan went pale. “Oh, shite,” he whispered.

Morrigan looked grim as well. “Oh, shite, indeed,” she said, pursing her lips.

The bann jumped up in front of them out of nowhere. “My looooooooooooord,” he sang out, his eyes rolling crazily. “We have visitooooooooors!”

Isolde and Connor both looked up to the entrance, the music still blaring in the background. “Who are they?” the boy asked in his horrible, deep voice. “Why are they here?”

“Grey Wardens,” Isolde said, voice faltering. Her proud face had fallen, and all Rowena could see was fear and despair. “W-what are you doing here?”

“Uh, Bann Teagan sent us,” Rowena said distractedly, watching as the bann started skipping merrily around them. “He thought there might be…trouble…”

“Trouble?” Connor barked, frowning. “ _Trouble_?”

“There’s no trouble here!” Bann Teagan sang, still skipping. “There’s no trouble hair! Might I braid your lovely hair?”

“Not unless you want a broken hand,” Sten responded. The bann burst into hysterical laughter.

“Woman, why are these people here?” Connor snapped. Hearing his voice made Rowena feel sick, like she was listening to something she should have never heard. “They are being rude to my uncle.”

“Has he gone crazy?” Alistair asked in disgust.

Eruestan shook his head. “He’s possessed.”

“ _No!_ ” The arlessa’s voice rang out loudly above the music in the hall. “Connor is _not_ possessed,” she said more calmly, taking pains to smooth out her dress. “My son is still here, sometimes he—”

“Maman!” Connor said suddenly. Rowena started. He was speaking in the voice of a terrified young boy. “Maman, what’s happening to me? Where am I?”

“Connor!” Isolde cried, dropping to her knees and embracing him. “Oh, thank the Maker! Please, let this be the end of this whole—”

“Get off me, woman!” the boy said, once more in his awful voice. “Your sniveling annoys me!”

“Annoys him, it does!” Bann Teagan cackled. “Your sniveling!”

“Possessed?” Rowena asked sharply. “What does that mean?”

“His body’s being controlled by a demon from the Fade,” Eruestan explained, his voice grim. “It’s just like the corpses, although in this case the demon is probably much stronger. Anyways, he’s no longer in control of himself.”

“I don’t like his tone!” Connor shouted, taking a step off the dais. “I should cut off his ears and feed them to the dogs, like I did to the other elves!”

“Connor, _non_!” the arlessa screamed. “Please, don’t hurt anyone!”

It was too late. The music screeched to a halt as Bann Teagan, the guards, and the undead stopped their antics and turned slowly towards the Wardens. Grinning manically, Teagan slowly picked up a sword from the ground while the others tensed themselves for a fight.

“Don’t kill anyone living!” Eruestan cried as Leliana sped past him, knocking out one of the guards with a kick to the temple, then sweeping the legs out from under his partner. Beside her, Rowena smacked the remaining guard across the face with her sheathed sword while Cormac tackled a corpse, ripping off its head between his jaws. Sten beheaded the other two corpses with a smooth swipe of his greatsword.

The only target left was Bann Teagan, who was fighting furiously against Alistair. Already sweating from the strain of defending himself while trying not to hurt the bann, the knight blocked a series of blows on his shield, then tried to use it to blast Teagan to his feet. The bann spun out of the way and sliced down with his sword. Alistair jumped back and quickly parried another series of strikes to his face.

“You’ll never win!” the bann jeered. “You can’t beat us! You can’t beat him! You can’t beat anyone!” Suddenly, he froze, and without a word slumped to the floor.

Alistair looked up in shock to see Morrigan standing behind the bann, lowering her hands. “What have you done?!”

“He’s merely unconscious,” Morrigan snapped. “Do you really think that I am so foolish as to—”

“Guys!” Rowena snapped. “Focus!”

They looked up to Connor, who had turned very pale. “Who—who are you?” he cried, his voice normal once more. “Don’t hurt me!”

Alistair and Isolde both opened their mouths to say something; Eruestan shook his head and cut them off. “Is this Connor speaking?” he said. “Or someone else?”

The boy frowned. “Fool! How dare you question me!”

Eruestan ignored him. “We’re not here to speak with you, demon! Let Connor go!”

Connor’s face screwed up. “ _Never_!” Eruestan and Rowena both moved forward. However, before they could reach him, a wave of force rippled through the hall, blasting everyone off their feet. By the time Rowena was able to stand up again, Connor had vanished.

“Teagan!” the arlessa cried, running over to the bann, who had started to stir. “Are you all right?”

“I…what happened to me?” the bann asked, looked around in a daze. “I walked into the great hall and then all of a sudden, nothing…”

“It was Connor,” Eruestan said. “He’s been possessed by a demon.”

“Where did he go?” Alistair said, climbing to his feet.

“He – he has gone to the private quarters of the castle,” the arlessa said quietly. “The…the d-demon takes him there to make sure that no one approaches his father…”

“Isolde…you knew about this?” the bann asked in horror, rising to his feet as well.

The arlessa looked down at her hands. “Connor…started showing signs of magic – small things, like candles being lit, doors flying shut…Eamon never noticed, but I, I knew right away…”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Teagan asked.

“I am no fool, Teagan,” Isolde said, looking up at him sharply. “I know what happens to mages – they would take my Connor away from me and I would never see him again. How could I do that to myself? How could I do that to my son?”

“So you hired Jowan to teach him,” Eruestan said.

She nodded. “I wanted someone to teach Connor how to hide his magic – I thought that if he could learn to control it, no one would ever know. I sent people across Ferelden and Orlais, looking for men and women to teach him. When Jowan came, I questioned nothing. He taught Connor many things – but he was poisoning my husband at the same time!” She wiped her eyes angrily with her sleeve. “Once I found out, I threw him in the dungeons, and before I knew it Connor was possessed and the dead were rising around us! I tried to have that man reverse what he did, but he refused! This is not Connor’s fault!”

Eruestan sighed. “With all due respect, Your Ladyship, Jowan didn’t do this,” he said reluctantly. “The magic that can attach a demon to another human body is highly ritualized and requires tons of energy – Jowan _couldn’t_ have done it if he wanted to!”

“So you think my son did this highly complicated spell?” Isolde shot back. “You think a boy of eight was able to do what a grown man could not?”

“What happened to Connor was not deliberate,” Eruestan said, shaking his head. “In this case, he likely made a deal with a demon that had already approached him in the Fade – child mages outside of the Circles are often targets when they dream. I bet Connor was trying to heal the arl. Now that demon’s possessing him – something that could have been avoided if he’d been sent to the Circle in the first place.”

Isolde’s nostrils flared. “If you think for a second that I would let my only son—”

“Enough!” Bann Teagan yelled, stepping between them. “What’s happened in the past is done – right now we need to focus on the problem at hand. If Connor is truly possessed, what can we do to free him?”

Eruestan hesitated. “There…aren’t many options. In fact, the only one I know of is…”

“Is what?” the bann said.

“Is destroying the human vessel,” Eruestan finished.

The room seemed to get a little darker. “No,” Isolde said.

“I don’t know of any other way to—”

“ _No_ ,” she said more frantically. “Stop him! You cannot hurt my son!”

“He’s not your son anymore,” Eruestan said sadly. “He’s an abomination. Connor is gone.”

The arlessa turned to her brother-in-law. “Teagan,” she pleaded, “help me! Do not let this man hurt my Connor!”

The bann looked devastated. “Isolde…I can’t…if the Warden believes…”

“ _No_!” Isolde fell to the floor with a sob, her face buried in her hands.

Teagan turned to Eruestan. “Warden, I will respect whatever decision you deem appropriate – still, given the circumstances…”

“I don’t like it either,” Eruestan admitted. “But it’s all I’ve ever been taught…”

“Morrigan, do you know a different solution?” Rowena asked, her face pale. She had known Connor Guerrin for years, too, and the little boy reminded her of Orin.

The witch shook her head. “Mother taught me to summon demons, never to banish them.”

“Jowan,” the arlessa said suddenly, sitting up straight. “Send for Jowan.”

“There’s no need for that,” Eruestan said, frowning.

“Jowan knows magic that neither of you do,” Isolde said sharply. “Perhaps he knows a way to get rid of this demon without harming my son!”

“If he does, it’ll be through blood magic!” Eruestan snapped. “We can’t just allow that!”

“We suffer because of blood magic,” she replied. “Perhaps blood magic can solve this mess as well.”

Eruestan gasped impatiently. “Unless it puts us in even worse trouble!”

Bann Teagan cleared his throat. “Isolde, I have to say, involving a blood mage—”

“I will not hear another opinion!” the arlessa shouted, rising to her feet. “So long as my husband is ill, I am in charge of the castle! I demand to have this mage brought before me!” She waved imperiously at the guards, who were still picking themselves up from the floor. Eruestan crossed his arms next to Rowena as they limped down to the dungeons, clearly furious with the way things were going.

Fifteen minutes later, Jowan was thrown at the arlessa’s feet. “Good morning, Your Ladyship,” he muttered, picking himself up.

“Do not address me, maleficar,” Isolde snapped. “How dare you speak to me, after all the trouble you have caused!”

“I’m sorry I poisoned your husband,” Jowan said quietly, looking at the floor, “but like I’ve said before, I don’t have anything to do with the possessions going on here.”

The arlessa smacked him across the face, sending the man reeling. “ _Do not lie to me, you monster_!” she shrieked, face red.

“Isolde, please!” Bann Teagan stepped in front of her, holding down her arm. “Calm yourself! You’ll only make it harder to get his help!” Reluctantly, the arlessa took a step back, breathing heavily. “Regardless of what you have or haven’t done, mage, my nephew is possessed by a demon. We have been told that the only way to banish this spirit is by killing Connor – is this true? Or is there another way?”

Jowan bit his lip. “I…well, the _easiest_ way is certainly to kill the physical body…you could, however, enter the Fade.”

“Enter the Fade?” Teagan asked.

He nodded. “The demon exists on two planes now – if we enter the Fade, confront it and defeat it, scatter its energies, it will be destroyed and Connor will be set free.”

The bann turned to Eruestan. “Is what he says true?”

“In theory, yes,” Eruestan said, frowning more deeply. “But in practice, it’s impossible. The amount of lyrium we’d need to send a mage across the Veil would be astronomical, we’d never have enough energy to—”

“There’s…another resource,” Jowan said, looking down at the floor again.

Eruestan shot him a look. “No.”

“We can use blood magic to send someone across the Veil,” Jowan continued, looking up at the arlessa. “I know a ritual that could do it...”

“ _No_ , Jowan.”

“…but I’d need a lot of life energy,” he said, ignoring Eruestan. “Almost all of it, actually.”

“Meaning…” Teagan said slowly.

“Meaning someone would have to sacrifice themselves for the ritual,” Jowan finished.

The room was once again filled with a very pregnant silence. “I shall do it,” Isolde said suddenly.

“What?” Teagan and Eruestan both said sharply.

“Isolde, that’s madness,” Teagan said. “Think of Eamon!”

"Eamon and I would both give our lives for our son,” the arlessa said distantly. Rowena was suddenly struck by her mother’s words about Isolde’s true nature; maybe this was the courage that Eleanor had so often spoken about. “I know he will understand.”

“We _can’t_ do this,” Eruestan said loudly. “This is the worst kind of blood magic – for all we know it could rip the Veil even further!”

“What else can we do?” the arlessa said simply. “If my life can be used to save that of my son, then I shall be content.”

“Warden, please,” Teagan said, “there must be another way to enter the Fade.”

Eruestan bit his lip, practically looking to be on the verge of panic. “I…I don’t know…” he said. “I mean, only the Circle would have the lyrium we’d need…”

“Well, what about the Circle, then?” Alistair said suddenly.

Eruestan stared at him. “What?”

“That’s right!” Rowena said, color slowly returning to her face. “The Circle! It can’t be too far from here, can it? After all, it’s on Lake Calenhad as well!”

“About a day’s journey by boat,” Teagan said thoughtfully.

“I…I mean, maybe…” Eruestan looked torn. “You don’t think it’s too far, though? What if Connor decides to attack again?”

“I can take care of that,” Jowan said firmly.

Eruestan looked at him for a moment. “I’ve seen how you take care of things, Jowan.”

“What other solution is there?” he shot back. “Having more of you stay would only provoke the demon – if you’re gone for what, two, three days? I can contain the demon to the private quarters of the castle for that long.”

Eruestan didn’t seem convinced. “And what’ll keep you from attacking everyone and running the instant those handcuffs come off?”

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take, isn’t it?” Jowan replied coldly. “Look, you can be bitter all you want, but the fact of the matter is, if you don’t leave to get help, either Connor or the arlessa is going to have to die. Do you want that weighing on your precious little head?”

Rowena glanced at the arlessa, who for all her dignity suddenly looked very lonely standing on the dais. As for Connor…the thought of killing a child made her nauseous. “Jowan’s right, Eruestan,” she said firmly. “We don’t have any other choice.”

He looked back up at her bleakly, but nodded slowly. “We’ll go, then,” he said. “Give us a boat, and we’ll do it.”

Isolde shuddered dramatically and for a moment looked to be on the verge of fainting. “ _Merci_ ,” she stammered, eyes filling with tears. “Please, hurry. My son’s life is in your hands.”

“We will,” Eruestan said, bowing. “I’ll bring the First Enchanter himself if I have to.”

“It seems every path we take branches off in another thousand directions,” Sten muttered. “I didn’t realize ‘ability to be easily distracted’ was part of the requirements for being a Grey Warden.”

Eruestan ignored Sten and walked over to Jowan. “I’m going to trust you, although Andraste knows you don’t deserve it,” he murmured.

“Thank you, Eruestan,” Jowan replied.

He looked his former friend in the eye. “But Maker help me, Jowan, betray me again and I don’t care how far you go, I will find you and I will make you pay.”

“Understood,” Jowan said, slightly more coldly. “Oh, and Eruestan? Say hi to Greagoir for me.”  


	20. Rain over Denerim

Queen Anora sat under a canopy in the soaked courtyard of the Denerim Cathedral, shivering under her cloak as water dripped down all around her.  

The weather in the city had been abnormally cold all week. Normally the summer heat that hovered over Denerim like a cloud lasted well into the month of Kingsway, baking the city dry and keeping the people out on the streets until the late hours of the night. For the past few days, however, the capital had been plagued with freezing rains. No one knew what it meant, but everyone had a theory. The most popular was that the Maker himself was mourning the loss at Ostagar. Anora didn’t know if she believed that. All she did know, however, was that the rain had made Cailan’s funeral pyre completely resistant to fire.

“I am so sorry, Your Majesty,” the Grand Cleric murmured in her ear as a team of priestesses scrambled over the giant mound of wood in front of them. “What with all the rain…”

Anora hardly minded. Her thoughts were still on the plans she was drafting for the new refugee camps she wanted built along the city walls. People had been pouring into Denerim ever since the battle, and soon the city would run out of space to accommodate them all. With autumn coming and winter looming in the distance, her main concerns were finding enough food to keep Denerim from starving, not any silly religious ceremony. In any case, this pyre was purely symbolic. Cailan’s body was still rotting in some ditch down south, far away from the masses that had come to pay their respects.

These masses, however, were beginning to grumble. Half the city had come to the king’s funeral, from the aristocrats huddled under thick fur-lined cloaks to the beggars crowded around the courtyard entrance with only their rags to keep them warm. They had come, only to find themselves stuck in the rain in front of a soaked pile of wood. Anora gazed over them, noticing all the growing scowls and grimaces, and bit her lip. “Father,” she said softly, “we should do something.”

The teyrn was lost in thought at her side. Shrouded in black, he looked more like a shade than a man in the faint light of the early afternoon. “Hm? Ah, yes, yes…” He fell silent again without even looking over at her. The queen sighed and turned back to the Grand Cleric.

“Is there anything we can do, Your Grace, to speed things along?” she murmured, barely moving her lips. “The crowds are getting restless.”

“What’s that, my child?” Grand Cleric Elemena was a bit hard of hearing.

“Might we speed things up?” She dared not speak any louder for fear of being overheard.

The priestess’s face, however, was still blank. “Huh?”

It was a losing battle. “Father, we really should—” She paused and frowned. A messenger from the palace had approached the canopy, shaking water from her hair as she whispered into the teyrn’s ear. Loghain’s expression darkened as she spoke, and suddenly he stepped out from under the canopy and burst through the crowd, not bothering to look back at the king’s pyre.

“Maker save Your Grace!” someone yelled from the crowd. Without even waving back, Loghain climbed on his horse and began to ride off. Stunned, the crowd began to mutter darkly to each other. Anora secretly cursed her father. The whole city had been reeling since Cailan’s death, and acts like that did nothing to endear them to the people. “Your Grace, we need to end this now!” she hissed.

The Grand Cleric blinked. “Oh! Of course, Your Majesty.” The old woman raised her hands in front of the crowd, silencing the agitated muttering. “Children of the Maker,” she called out, “your creator watches over you in these dark times! Trust in him, and trust in his bride, Andraste!”

The queen stopped listening, wondering instead where her father had gone. He had been increasingly distant as of late, spending long nights in the palace’s War Chamber with Rendon Howe and Ser Cauthrien. She herself tried to join them as much as possible, even though her skills were admittedly better used in preparing the country for the long siege that lay ahead of it. That was what she told herself, at least, mainly to explain why she had been shut out of the council over the past few weeks.

Something had changed in her father ever since Ostagar. Perhaps it was his grief, perhaps it was his fear – although grief and fear had never seemed to affect the teyrn too terribly in the past. Whatever the cause, since his return to Denerim Loghain had become more and more taciturn and surly, leaving a foreboding void where his normally commanding presence had always been. As much as she hated to accept it, Anora had come to rely on that presence in her life, and now that it was gone she almost felt as though she were reeling.

There was another worry, one that she refused to think too hard about. However, whenever she let her mind wander, she couldn’t help but think of how convenient Cailan’s death had been for her father in the end. No one had spoken of Orlais since he and Arl Howe had returned, after all.

The Grand Cleric finished her blessing, bowing her head as the choir of priestesses began chanting a mournful hymn that was drowned out by the rain. Anora closed her eyes, and suddenly she was caught by a wave of grief. Cailan was dead. Her summer prince had been slaughtered, lost to her forever. She would never again see his face. For a moment, the ground felt as though it would cave in around her, swallowing her and the rest of the city whole.

Then she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She was the queen; people were looking to her for strength. _Tent sizes_ , she thought sternly, forcing the pain back. _I need to think about tent sizes_.

The priestesses gave up on the pyre, and with a final prayer the Grand Cleric shrugged and turned back to Anora. “Once more, you have my deepest apologies, Your Majesty,” she said. “Would you like another moment by the pyre? I know it’s only symbolic, but the Maker will hear your prayers all the same.”

Anora nodded, secretly wondering if the Maker could possibly have enough time to listen to all her prayers at once. “I’m afraid I have to return to the palace immediately,” she said, bowing her head. “Thank you again for everything you’ve done, Your Grace. In these troubled times, we all turn to the Chantry for guidance.”

“That’s nice, dear,” Elemena said vaguely. Anora curtsied and the priestess shuffled back towards the cathedral, rainwater dripping from the corners of her miter.  The queen turned towards the pyre and bent her head for a moment, saying one quick prayer for her lost love. Then she rose and turned away, placing her soaked riding hood back on her head. Disgruntled by the unimpressive service, the crowd moved begrudgingly aside to let her pass. Anora smiled at them, taking note of their behavior. Morale in the capital was understandably low, and it took special attention to ensure that things did not turn violent.

Her maidservant Erlina, a small Orlesian elf with sharp eyes and a gentle smile, was waiting for her by her horse. Before Anora could mount, however, someone burst from the crowd and threw herself at the queen’s feet. “Your Majesty, please!” the woman wept, kissing her hems and dirtying them with mud. “Please, you have to help us!”

One of Anora’s guards stepped forward and grabbed the woman by the arm. “How dare you?” he snarled, jerking her to her feet. “How dare you accost the queen?”

“Ferris, please,” Anora said quickly, dropping her bridles. “Let her go.” The guard released the woman’s arm and took a step back, his eyes to the ground. Anora walked forward and looked kindly at the woman, ignoring the rain pounding down on both of them. “There, there, hush,” she said gently. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” the woman sniffed. “I’ve been on me own since Ostagar – three children to feed, and their da dead from the darkspawn. We’ll starve without any help, or freeze to death!”

Anora squeezed her arm warmly, feeling how thin and starved the woman’s body was. At the same time, she was aware of the many eyes of the crowd that were watching her, waiting to see what she would do. “Erlina, give this woman a sovereign,” she said loudly, her voice cutting through the pouring rain. Her maid bowed and pulled a coin from the queen’s purse, handing it to the woman. “This should last you and your children through the night,” Anora said. “Come to the palace tomorrow morning – I will personally see to it that you and your family are provided for.”

The woman shuddered in gratitude, dropping to her knees in the puddles pooling beneath them. “Maker bless you,” she sobbed. “Bless you!”

Anora smiled at her and turned back at the crowd. Pulling off her hood, she let the rain plaster her hair to her face as she began to speak. “The Crown knows how much you all have suffered!” she yelled, determined to have her voice carry as far as the back of the crowd. “Any family that has lost a spouse or a child will enjoy my protection until the darkspawn have been sent back down to the earth!”

There was a smattering of applause from the crowd. “Maker save the Queen!” someone called from the courtyard. A few more voices echoed the first one, and soon the everyone had started clapping. Anora smiled at them as she climbed up on her horse, and with a wave she began to head back to the palace.

The whole city was gray and wet, the rain keeping most people inside. As she looked down the empty, narrow streets of Denerim, Anora couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible was lingering in the air. The city already felt dead, even if the horde was on the other side of the country. _We’re so unprepared,_ she thought as her horse jolted forward. _How am I going to solve this?_

The long procession back home left her shivering and aching, the cold seeping into her bones. “Erlina, have a bath drawn for me right away,” she murmured as they passed under the massive palace gates. “Also, have a pot of tea waiting and send for my furs. I’m absolutely freezing.”

“ _Bien sûr_ , _madame_ ,” Erlina said, helping her dismount. Two stable boys approached to take her horse, bowing as she shook the water off of her head. Before they could enter the palace, however, a woman in a full suit of armor walked out of the solid oak doors and kneeled before the queen.

“Ser Cauthrien,” Anora said, nodding at the knight. “Is my father well? He left the cathedral in quite a hurry.”

“Your Majesty,” Cauthrien said, rising to her feet. “The Lord Regent requests your presence in the War Chamber immediately.”

Sighing to herself, Anora nodded her head graciously to the soldier and turned back to Erlina. “I wonder what this is about,” she murmured as they passed through the palace doors. The gray light made the imposing entrance hall look forlorn, like a room that had been empty for years. “I’d be worried if he hadn’t been making every molehill into a mountain recently.”

“In His Grace’s defense, almost everything is a mountain these days,” Erlina pointed out as they started to climb the stairs.

“Too true,” Anora sighed. “Sweet Andraste, what a day.”

“I will make sure to have the servants put rose petals in your bath,” Erlina said soothingly. “And lemon in the tea.”

Anora smiled. “You’re divine, my friend.”

The two women parted ways as Anora turned towards a hallway leading to the east wing of the palace. The King’s Council Chambers was a small labyrinth of rooms normally filled with courtiers and officials scrambling to perform the work required to keep the kingdom running. Ever since Loghain had set up office there, however, the area had fallen quiet, only visited by the queen and the team of messengers that poured in and out of the palace. There was a terrible draft blowing through the corridors, cutting through her wet clothes like a knife. It had been foolish to come there without changing clothes; if she wasn’t careful, she’d catch a pneumonia before the Blight even had a chance to finish her off.

A sniveling voice was echoing out into the hallway as she approached the War Chamber, one that made her stop outside the door and take a deep breath to compose herself. “Reports have been pouring in from all over the Bannorn, my lord,” Arl Rendon Howe was saying. “Our supporters have already begun clashing with those that oppose your regency. It appears we will have civil war after all.”

The teyrn swore loudly. “I thought for sure with Eamon out of the picture, resistance in the Bannorn would collapse. This…complicates matters…” Anora frowned and tried to take a step back before anyone noticed her. Anything she could learn about her father’s plans would be enough to explain his strange behavior. However, before she could hear anything further, Loghain looked up and saw her standing by the doorway. “Ah, there you are, Anora,” he said gruffly, reaching out a hand to her. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Arl Howe bowed before her as she entered the room. “Your Majesty. You were an inspiration to all Ferelden during the ceremony today.”

Anora smiled faintly and curtsied, trying to hide her disgust. She had known Rendon Howe since she was a child, and she had never liked his groveling manners and unpleasant nature. Now that she knew that he had been responsible for the death of Eleanor Cousland, one of her dearest friends, she could barely stand to be in his presence. “Not that you were there to see me, Your Lordship,” she replied. “I rather imagined you would have wanted to attend Cailan’s funeral, given that you weren’t on the battlefield to witness his death.”

“Rendon’s more useful to us here than in a chantry,” the teyrn said as Howe went red. “I myself should have left sooner than I did.”

Anora stared at him, trying to calm her temper. “I must admit, I was a bit surprised to see that you left so suddenly, Father,” she said coolly. “As was the rest of the city.”

“That was my fault, Your Majesty,” Howe said. “Reports had just come in from the Bannorn that required his immediate attention.”

She smiled coldly. “Be that as it may, it was irresponsible of him to leave halfway through the ceremony. The country is terrified, and at times like these everyone looks to the Crown for strength and guidance. What will they think now that the Hero of River Dane abandoned them in the middle of the funeral for the king?”

“If they have any sense, they’ll think that I’m doing what it takes to hold this country together,” Loghain said harshly. “An unpopular opinion, it seems. Not everyone in the Bannorn is pleased with my regency.”  

Anora frowned and looked down at the map of Ferelden that had been spread out onto the table. Someone had taken the pains to fill it in with Mac Tir blue and a fiery, angry red. From the looks of it, the Bannorn had nearly been split in half. “Will there be resistance, then?” she asked.

The teyrn nodded slowly, making her stomach clench. “It seems that way.”

“Gwaren, Amaranthine, and Highever are on our side,” Howe said. “The Central Bannorn, Redcliffe, and the West, however…”

“Are traitors to the Crown,” Loghain finished, standing up straight.

“This is madness!” Anora said in horror. “Our main concern is the Blight! It should be everyone’s priority to come together and defeat these monsters!”

“Men will take whatever opportunity they can to seize power, Your Majesty,” Howe murmured.

Anora was in no mood to listen to Rendon Howe be ironic. “Thank you for that enlightening assessment of human nature, my lord,” she said icily. She turned back to Loghain, ignoring the stunned look on Howe’s face. “Father, what should we do?”

Loghain shook his head. “What can we do? If they want war, we’ll give it to them.”

It took Anora a moment to process what her father had just said. “Go to—go to war?” she said in disbelief. “A civil war? During a Blight?”

“These darkspawn are not as fearsome as Duncan would have had us believe,” Loghain said. “Once we stamp out these rebellions, we can collect enough of a force we can—”

“A force?” Anora said sharply. “Like the one at Ostagar, you mean?” Both men looked at her without saying anything. “Father, those beasts destroyed one of the largest Fereldan armies in recent history,” she reminded him. “Even with the soldiers of Gwaren and the north, we’re simply not strong enough to face them on our own! After all, the Grey Wardens said—”

“The Grey Wardens betrayed us, Anora,” her father replied. “Do not forget that.”

“Speaking of which, my lord,” Howe said uncomfortably, “there have been other reports that may be of interest to you. Rumor has it that some of the Grey Wardens may have survived the battle at Ostagar.”

“What?” Anora and Loghain said at the same time.

“Which ones?” Loghain said sharply. Anora looked over at him and frowned. If anything, his voice sounded nervous, something she’d never seen from him.

Howe cleared his throat. “The Templar Knight Alistair, an elven mage…and Lady Rowena Cousland.”

Anora started. “Lady Rowena is a Grey Warden?” she asked in shock. Eleanor’s daughter was about half Anora’s age, but her prowess with a sword had been well-known throughout Ferelden for years. “That’s wonderful news!” she exclaimed, happy for the first time in weeks. “We should send for these Wardens right away!”

Loghain, however, had become stiff. “Rendon,” he growled, “find a way to take care of them. I want them all dead before they cause any trouble.”

Anora looked at her father in shock as Howe bowed his head and murmured something sycophantic. She couldn’t recognize the look on the teyrn’s face, and for a moment she wondered if he had lost his reason. “Lord Rendon,” she said coldly. “I would like a moment alone with my father.” The arl frowned and started to protest; she cut him off with a look. “ _Now_ , please.”

Taken aback, Howe bowed quickly and looked back at the teyrn. “I’ll get to work straight away, Your Grace,” he said. “Your Majesty.”

As the arl left the room, Anora turned back to Loghain, her rage breaking through her polished façade. “What is the meaning of this, Father?” she snapped. “Kill Rowena Cousland? Bryce and Eleanor were our friends!”

The teyrn looked down at the table and took a deep breath. “Lady Rowena is a Grey Warden, Anora,” he said, taking a seat at the table.

“And we need the Grey Wardens!” she retorted, resting her hands over the map. “They’re the only ones who can help fight against the darkspawn!”

“They’re traitors, Anora,” her father said. “They must pay for their crimes.”

“Bullocks!” the queen yelled. Loghain looked up at her in surprise, his eyes slowly narrowing. “I will not sit here idly while you threaten Ferelden with whatever scheme you have planned! I know something is going on, and I will not stand for it! You may have half the Bannorn convinced by your story, but I know that the Wardens would never have risked a power play when there was so much to lose!”

“Do not doubt my devotion to this country, Anora.” Loghain gave her an ice-cold look, one so hard it almost frightened her. “Have I ever given reason to question me before?”

 _Many times_ , she thought. “No.”

“Then do not do so now.” Looking down, the teyrn leaned over and pulled the map out from under her hands. “Now, for the time being, our focus must be controlling the Bannorn,” he said, pointing to the territories outlined in red. “If we tried to fight the darkspawn with the numbers we have now, we’d be crushed…”

Anora bit the inside of her cheek. There was an obvious solution to their lack of manpower, one that was practically staring them in the face. However, she knew already how Loghain would react. Still… “There is another way, Father.”

“What would that be?” he asked, still staring at the map.

She closed her eyes and said calmly, “I know for a fact that Empress Celene would be more than willing to—”

“No.” His voice made her eyes flutter open. What she saw shocked her. Loghain’s gaze had never been quite so black with fury. For the first time in her life, her father was scaring her.

But she was the queen, and she was a Mac Tir. Anora would not be cowed. “Orlais has soldiers, Father, far more than we do, and they could be here in weeks if we needed—”

“ _No_!” The teyrn grabbed his daughter’s hand and dragged her across the table, pulling her face into his. She tried to keep from gasping in pain. Loghain had never hurt her before, but now his hand was clenching hers so tight it almost made her cry out. “I have fought all my life against those Orlesian bastards!” he yelled, his voice echoing off the stone walls around them. “I watched them kill my parents – your grandparents! They raped us, they murdered us, they stole our lands – they treated us like _dogs_!” His hand squeezed harder, and she yelped from the pain. Loghain didn’t notice – his eyes were wild, almost manic. “I would rather watch this country _burn_ than let those sons of bitches trample us into the dirt again!”

“ _Enough_!” Anora yanked her hand out from her father’s grasp and glared at him, rage boiling in her heart. The two panted heavily for a moment, staring in furious awe at each other. Then, Anora asked a question that had been lying on her chest since the news of the battle had first reached Denerim. “Did you kill Cailan, Father?”

The look in Loghain’s eyes was all the answer she needed. Before he could say anything, she spun around and stormed out of the room. With that look, her worst fears had been confirmed, and her last shred of comfort had been wrenched away from her. But she was the queen – she would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her cry.


	21. The Broken Circle

Lake Calenhad was very still in the early morning, the clear waters reflecting the beautiful black sky above them. The boat floating atop it, however, was not.

“Alistair, please stop moving,” Leliana said from the floor, face between her knees. “I’m going to be sick again.”

The knight didn’t seem to hear her. “Where are we?” he asked the captain, fidgeting in his seat again. “We should have been at the Circle hours ago!”

 Captain Alla was a large, gruff woman with thick arms and a grizzled scar down the left side of her face. “Lake Calenhad’s pretty big, boy,” she grumbled. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

“If we even get there at all!” Alistair snapped, trying to stand up. The boat jerked underneath him, and he quickly sat down as Leliana moaned. “We haven’t even seen the Circle’s beacon yet!”

“Get ahold of yourself!” the captain said. “The tower ain’t moving anytime soon!”

“And we aren’t either!” Alistair said. “The Grand Cleric could row faster than you!”

She shot him a black look. “You wanna say that again, Junior?”

Eruestan glanced over at the two of them and sighed. It was only natural that things were getting tense. The boat was too small for all of them, and no one had slept since the battle the night before. Topping it all off, every fifteen minutes they all had to move their feet while Leliana vomited beneath them. Put together, it was a recipe for disaster.

“Look, boy,” the captain growled, bending over Alistair. “My men have been busting their asses trying to get you here as soon as they can. If you want to go any faster, maybe you and your bloody giant could chip in for a bit!”

“Gladly!” Alistair shouted, rocking the boat as he climbed to his feet. Leliana moaned again and plunged her head further between her knees. “Come on, Sten!” The Qunari stared at him impassively. “Uh…Sten?”

It was all getting to be a bit much. “Oh, just shut up, Alistair!” Eruestan snapped, glaring at him. “You heard her, we’ll get there when we get there! Now sit down before Leliana throws up again!”

“Too late,” she moaned, wiping her chin. The others groaned and shuffled away from her.

Alistair scowled and sat back down next to him. “What’s the matter with you?” he muttered.

“Nothing’s the matter with me,” Eruestan said, looking out onto the lake. “It was getting annoying, that’s all.”

He was lying. In truth, every inch of him was dreading going back to the Circle. Even though the others had already discovered what he had done, he knew that they didn’t truly grasp the gravity of what had happened. He, however, could still feel the guilt twisting inside him like a knife. The memory of his betrayal was still fresh enough to make him shudder. The idea of looking the First Enchanter in the face and asking for his help after spitting on everything the Circle held dear almost made him sick to his stomach.

“Alla,” one of the men up front said suddenly. “Sun’s rising. Take a look that...”

The captain looked out front and frowned. “Shite, that’s not good.”

Eruestan looked over, confused. In the growing sunlight, he could finally see out over the horizon. Jutting up in front of them like a mountain was the silhouette of the Tower, a knife cutting up into the sky. He almost whimpered – they had finally made it.

Rowena, however, sat up straight in front of him. “I thought there was supposed to be a beacon,” she said, keeping her hand on Cormac’s collar to keep him still at her feet.

“That’s the problem,” Captain Alla said, squinting ahead. Eruestan frowned, a pang of fear suddenly cutting through his nerves. The Circle always kept the beacon on its roof lit. Not only did it serve as a signal to ships on the lake, the light was a constant reminder of the Chantry’s dominion over the mages. He had never seen it, of course, but even he knew that it never stopped burning. If it had been extinguished, something was not right.

“What do we do, Alla?” one of the sailors asked. “Do we still take them to the island?”

The captain frowned, then shook her head. “No, bring ‘em to the mainland.”

“What?” Alistair said angrily. “Why? We’ve wasted enough time already!”

The captain glared at him. “I didn’t spend the past three days fighting off the damned undead to be turned into a toad by some spellbind, and neither did any of my men! We’re dumping you lot on the land and you’re going to sit down and shut up about it!”

Defeated, Alistair sat back down and crossed his arms. “Stop smirking, Morrigan,” he muttered.

“I am not,” she replied, eyebrow raised.

“Just wanted to make sure.” He looked over at Eruestan blackly. “Well, at any rate, welcome home.” Leliana retched again at their feet. Eruestan couldn’t help but agree.

The boat landed on the shore half an hour later. With a cry, Leliana pushed everyone out of her way and tumbled onto the sand, collapsing on the ground. “Land,” she half-sobbed. “Dear, sweet, wonderful land!”

Eruestan hopped out behind her and turned to stare at the island across the lake. The sun had half-risen by then, shining down on the white marble of the Circle Tower. He had never had the chance to admire the building before. Looking at it now, he could fully appreciate just how large his home had been. It was a mighty structure, one that exuded power and mystery. Despite his nerves, he couldn’t help but admit that it felt rather good to be home.

“Huh,” Morrigan said behind him. “Fitting.”

“It certainly does look magical, doesn’t it?” Eruestan said, feeling a little breathless.

“Hm? Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “I was referring to the fact that it looks like a giant phallus. Fitting that the Chantry would lock their mages in here.”

Eruestan blinked and looked over at her. “It—it doesn’t look like a phallus!”

“Whoa, you can totally see it!” Rowena said. “Look, you can trace it with your finger and everything!”

“Put your hand down! _Captain Alla_!” Eruestan shouted, annoyed at how phallus-shaped the Tower actually was. “What’s the plan from here?”

“Head down to the dock and let the Templars ferry you across,” the woman barked. “We’ll be here if you get back.”

Rowena frowned. “You mean _when_ , right?”

She glanced at the unlit beacon. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Coming back as a toad counts as dead, by the way.”

“Well, that’s great,” Rowena muttered. “Come on, everyone. Let’s get moving and figure out what’s going on.”

“I’m never leaving land again!” Leliana sang happily a few feet away from them, digging her hands in the sand. “I’m getting married to land!”

“Come on, Leli, we’re leaving,” Alistair said, walking past her.

“That’s fine, we’re on land!” She jumped to her feet, then froze when she saw where they were headed. “Wh—where are we going?”

“The docks,” Rowena said, pushing ahead. “Keep up!”

Leliana’s eyes went wide. “No.”

“Yes,” she said, looking back. “Hurry up, if you get in the rowboat right after Sten it won’t shake as much.”

“ _No_ ,” she said, throwing herself flat. “I am _not_ getting back into a boat. Leave me here, I will not go any further.”

Part of Eruestan wanted to lie down with her. The other part, however, just wanted to get everything over with as quickly as possible. “Leliana, if the Tower’s beacon has gone out, that means that something’s very wrong,” he said. “Besides, we need to get help back to Redcliffe as soon as possible. We don’t have time for this.” Leliana responded by curling herself into a ball.

Eruestan rubbed his temples. “This is ridiculous.”

“There’s really only one solution, isn’t there?” Alistair said.

“What’s that?” The elf looked over to see that Alistair, Rowena, and Morrigan were all staring at Sten. “Oh.”

The giant looked back at all of them impassively for a moment, then sighed and bent over, picking up Leliana like a small child.

“ _Putain_! _Lâche-moi_!” she shrieked, writhing to get out of his grasp. With a grunt he threw her over his shoulder. “I am not okay with this!”

“Desperate times, Leli!” Rowena called back. “Now, let’s just—”

“ _Oi_!” someone yelled in front of them. Eruestan looked over to see two Templars racing over from the docks. He went pale, wondering if any of them would recognize him. “Where is that giant taking that girl?”

“To the Tower, hopefully,” Rowena said. Eruestan took a step back, suddenly a little tongue-tied. “We have business with the Circle.”

One of the Templars snorted. “Should have come a week ago, then. The Tower’s closed, we’re not letting anyone across.”

“ _Créateur soit loué!_ ”

“That’s enough, Leliana,” Rowena said. “Look, this is urgent business. We need to get across to the Tower right away.”

“Well, that’s tough, because we’re not letting anyone ac—wait a minute,” the other knight said. He looked past her and stared at Eruestan, his jaw slowly going slack. “You’re that mage that busted out of here a while ago, aren’t you?”

Eruestan’s stomach churned, and for a moment he thought he was going to vomit like Leliana. “Well, technically _I_ didn’t bust out…but, uh, yeah…”

“…but that’s beside the point,” Rowena said, quickly stepping in. “He’s a Grey Warden now – we all are. That’s why we’re here.”

The knights snorted. “Yeah, okay, you’re Grey Wardens,” one of them said. “By the way, I’m the Queen of Antiva!”

“You’re not very pretty for a queen,” Alistair remarked.

The man scoffed. “You can’t talk to me like that, I’m royalty!”

“Ok, this is getting out of hand,” Rowena said, pulling a bundle of papers from her bag. “These treaties bear the Grey Warden seal, they’re more than enough proof that we are who we say we are. In any case, whoever’s in charge is going to be extremely annoyed if they find that you didn’t let us across!”

“That’s a big ‘if’ at this point,” one of the knights said grimly as he looked over the treaties.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alistair asked. “What’s going on in there?”

The Templars exchanged glances. “You’ll see soon enough,” the other said, handing back the treaties. “Fine, your papers are in order. We’ll draw up a boat for you.”

“Well done back there,” Eruestan murmured to Rowena. One of the Templars shot him a nasty look; he flushed and looked away. “Sorry I wasn’t much help…I’m still a little nervous around them.”

“I’m just irritated right now, that’s all,” she said, frowning slightly. “That boat ride was miserable. Although come on, you’re a Warden now, you should be over all that.”

There was something about the way she said that that rankled him a little. All the same, he shrugged and said, “Well, it’s a good thing they caved. I don’t know how we would have convinced them otherwise.”

“I would have taken care of that,” Sten said.

“By what, brute force?” Alistair said. “That’s probably not a good idea, is it? I know Templars, and they’re more stubborn than you think.”

The Qunari shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Bribery is sometimes better.”

“Bribery?” Rowena laughed. “What could we have given them? Autographs on our wanted posters?”

He sighed and pulled something out of his cloak, avoiding Leliana’s flailing legs.

The three of them stared at what he was holding in his hand. “Is that…a _cookie_?” Eruestan asked. “Where did you find that?”

“A fat child in Redcliffe was eating them,” Sten said. “I relieved him of them.”

“You stole cookies from a kid?” Alistair asked. “Actually, wait, no, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Why, though?” Rowena asked, looking at him in wonder. “You didn’t really think you’d use them as a bribe, did you?”

“Like I said, the child was fat, he shouldn’t have been eating them.” Sten shifted a little, almost as if he were uncomfortable. “Besides, they looked appealing.”

“ _You_ like _cookies_?”

“As fascinated as you all are by this conversation, I believe our slackjawed friends have found us our boat,” Morrigan said, motioning to the returning Templars. “Shall we make our way to the center of Chantry oppression?”

“What do you mean by ‘oppression’?” The Templars were right in front of them, their eyes slowly narrowing.

“Uhhhh…she meant depression!” Alistair said, eyes wide. “It must be so depressing in that tower, huh? What without the beacon and all? Crazy, right?”

“Just get in the boat,” Rowena muttered, pushing past the knights before they could say anything else. The group shuffled into the dinghy one by one, careful to evenly distribute the weight. Resigned to her fate, Leliana flung herself down in the center of the boat, her eyes glued shut. Eruestan kept to the back corner, looking up in despair at the building looming in front of them.

The boat ride was short and silent, the morning sun rising higher and higher overhead. Before long, they were directly at the base of the Tower, the sunlight reflecting off it so brightly they had to avert their eyes. Something, however, was off. It could have been his imagination, but Eruestan almost seemed to sense a strange surge of power emanating from the walls – something quiet, yet dark, like a hidden heartbeat.

Leliana was out of the boat almost before they had time to dock it. “I hate _all_ of you,” she hissed, sitting down on the ground. “Next time we’re getting here by horse – even if the horse has to drown!”

“ _Halt_!” someone shouted. They looked up to see a group of Templars running towards them. “Who are you and who sent you across?”

“Not this again,” Rowena muttered, jumping out of the boat. Shaking out her hair, she walked up to them with her hands held high. “We’re Grey Wardens, we have business with the Circle.”

The knights looked stunned. “Grey Wardens?” one of them asked, a little stupidly. “Are you sure? I thought you all died at Osta—”

“Yes, yes, at Ostagar, we know, it’s a huge miracle,” she said, craning her neck up towards the building. “Big place you have here. Have you ever noticed that it looks like a penis?”

One of the Templars looked up with her. “Huh! Look at that!”

“Shut up, Bran!” another knight snapped. She looked back at the Wardens in fury. “Who told you you could just show up to the island? We have a situation on our hands! No one’s allowed in the Tower!”

“Yeah, we heard,” Rowena said, trying to peer around them. “So, is the front door around here? I can’t quite…see…”

“Oi!” As Rowena pushed forward, one of the Templars drew his sword. Barking loudly, Cormac threw himself between the knight and his mistress as everyone on both sides drew their weapons. Staring at the horde of Templars about to charge at him, Eruestan seriously wondered whether he was going to pass out.

“You there! What’s going on?” a familiar voice said sharply. Much to Eruestan’s surprise, Greagoir appeared from around the corner, accompanied by a small squadron of Templars. The Knight-Commander had seen better days. There was a nasty burn on the right side of his face, and his arm was lying in a sling. Still, for a moment Eruestan was almost glad to see him. Then he remembered the way the knight had looked at him last, and any good feelings vanished.

“Knight-Commander!” one of the Templars shouted, glaring at the group. “These people claim to be Grey Wardens!”

“Grey Wardens?” Greagoir said, shocked. He began looking them over with narrowed eyes, gazing at Sten and Morrigan with particular suspicion. Finally, he found Eruestan. The two stared at each other for a moment. “You,” Greagoir snarled softly, his gaze filled with contempt. “I should have figured you’d come back here now of all times.

“It’s nice to see you too, Knight-Commander,” Eruestan said, eyes lowered.

“Don’t speak to me,” the commander snapped. “You’re lucky the Wardens took you, boy.”

“Yes, he is,” Rowena said, still glaring at the Templar who had cut her off. “And before we continue, perhaps you could have your men lower their weapons?”

Greagoir waved his hand irritably. “Yes, yes, at ease men, for Maker’s sake.” The Templars sheathed their swords, shooting nasty looks at the Wardens. “What is this all about?”

Eruestan was going to be sick. Flustered, he started to stammer something out before catching himself and closing his eyes. Taking a breath, he collected his thoughts and said, “We’ve come to speak to Irving and the mages. There’s been a possession at Redcliffe Castle and we need their help immediately. Beyond that, we have these treaties that obligate the Circle to help the Grey Wardens during a Blight. We want them to prepare to help us as soon as they can.”

Greagoir snorted blackly and shook his head. “You’ve got some nerve,” he spat. “Coming back here now after everything you’ve done? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Eruestan’s face had gotten hot. To his horror, tears were welling in the corner of his eyes. He had been a fool to come back here, he had known it from the start. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t know, we’ll just—”

“Hey! Show some respect!” Rowena snapped, stepping in front of the elf. “Whatever Eruestan did in the past is over. He’s a Grey Warden now, and you can’t talk to him like that!”

“I don’t have time for this!” Greagoir snarled. “This whole Tower is falling to pieces and I don’t need any little girls screaming at me!”

“ _Little girls_?”

“Well, wait, what’s going on here?” Alistair asked, holding Rowena back. “I was in the Order myself, Knight-Commander, I know something must be really bad here. Why is the beacon out? Why have you cut off all access from the shore? And why are all the Templars outside of the Tower?”

The Knight-Commander hesitated. “Well, we have…an incident on our hands.”

“This sounds promising,” Sten muttered.

“Incident?” Leliana asked warily. “What kind of incident?”

To Eruestan’s surprise, Greagoir coughed and looked both embarrassed and frightened. “I’m afraid that my men and I have lost control of the Tower,” he said. As he said it, the commander suddenly began to look like every bit the old man he really was. “To demons.”

That took a moment to sink in. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Alistair said flatly.

“What?” Rowena cried, shooting him a look. “What do you mean, demons? How could this happen?”

“We don’t know,” Greagoir said, crossing his arms. “The attacks started four nights ago. I’d just finished my patrols when there was a large burst of energy from somewhere in the building. A few minutes later, screams were echoing through the Tower, and before anyone could do anything the whole building was swarming with abominations. We tried to fight them off, but I quickly realized that we didn’t have enough men to keep resisting. That was when I made the decision to retreat from the Tower and have the Order regroup here.”

Eruestan gasped in horror. For a moment, he completely forgot about his shame and embarrassment. All he could think of were the people trapped in the Tower.  “What?” he cried. “You can’t do that! You have a responsibility to protect the mages!”

“Don’t talk to me about responsibility, traitor!” Greagoir snapped, staring back at him in rage. Eruestan lowered his head, cowed. “The situation is out of my control! In any case, I have a duty to protect the rest of the world _from_ the mages, too! My job now is to keep them contained until the Right of Annulment gets here from Denerim.”

“The Right of Annulment?” Rowena asked.

Greagoir looked grim. “It’s an act from the Chantry permitting the total destruction of the Circle. Once we have it, along with reinforcements, we’ll be able to cleanse the Tower and put an end to this threat.”

Eruestan’s heart stopped. Destroying the Circle… Out of nowhere he saw hundreds of faces, faces of all the people he had known ever since he was a child. All the enchanters, the teachers, Niall, Inara, Rona, Leorah, Irving.... “You can’t just let them die!” he said, face white.

“Silence!” Greagoir yelled. “You have no right to say what happens to the Circle after what you’ve done!”

Eruestan dropped his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You’re right, I just—”

“Bullshit!” Rowen said angrily. “As Grey Wardens, it’s our responsibility to build an army against the darkspawn! These treaties say that we can recruit as many Circle mages as possible to join our cause!”

“I don’t care about your piece of paper!” the Knight Commander shouted. “If I can’t secure this Tower, all of Ferelden is in danger!”

“All of Ferelden already is in danger!” Rowena shot back. “And if we can’t get the mages, the entire world could be wiped out by the Blight!”

“So what do you propose we do, Warden?” Greagoir said, shooting daggers at Rowena. “Blast down the doors, charge the Tower, get everyone killed? I’m not going to have my men risk their lives for this nonsense!”

“You won’t have to,” Rowena said, crossing her arms. “We’ll do it.”

Everyone turned to stare at her. “We will?” Alistair squeaked.

She nodded, still glaring at the commander. “It’s our mission, not theirs. If these cowards won’t risk their lives, then we will.”

“What a noble sacrifice,” Greagoir sneered. “A useless one, too. There can’t be very many uncorrupted mages left in the Tower. Is their presence on the battlefield really worth risking the lives of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden?”

“Yeah, seriously, is it?” Alistair asked in a panic.

“It is,” she said firmly. “I don’t know much about the Circl,e or even how magic works, but I bet if anyone’s survived this, it’ll be the most powerful mages. Those are the people we need to make a real difference! We can save them, and we have to!”

The Knight-Commander was silent for a moment. Although he was still glaring at them, to everyone’s surprise he slowly began nodding. “I have to admit, your proposition is…appealing…”

“It is?” Alistair asked hopelessly.

“It is,” Greagoir said. “Believe it or not, I have no desire to kill innocent mages. You have my permission to enter the Tower if you so wish.”

Rowena turned to the rest of the party. “I’m not going to volunteer anyone,” she said, looking at each of them. “You don’t have to follow me if you don’t want to. But so long as there are innocent people who need my help, I’m going to fight to save them.”

“I’ll join you,” Eruestan said quietly, still avoiding Greagoir’s gaze. Rowena nodded, perhaps a little stiffly. “The Tower’s my home. I won’t let the people I know die in it.”

“And I’ll come along, too,” Alistair said, albeit a little less enthusiastically. “My Templar training might come in handy – besides, we all have to die at some point, right?”

“As long as we stay out of the water, I shall come, too,” Leliana said, rising to her feet. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a Circle, anyways!”

“Like most of our plans, it is foolish,” Sten said. “But as I have sworn to aide you, I shall fight as well.”

Rowena turned to Morrigan, who had kept quiet throughout the discussion. “What about you?”

“We have a rather suicidal tendency to help those who cannot help themselves, do we not?” she snapped. “If these mages cannot fight off this threat themselves, why should we bother trying to save them? What use could they be to us on the battlefield?”

“You don’t have to help,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’re more than welcome to stay out here with the Templars.”

“Oh no, I shall join you,” she said, looking back at her, “if only to see the conditions the Chantry forces these mages to live in. Know, though, that your bleeding heart will be your ruin.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Greagoir. “So there you go,” she said. “Send us in, unless you’re too afraid to.”

“Very well,” the commander said coldly. “There are, however, two conditions.”

“Of course there are,” Alistair sighed. “What are they?”

“When you enter the Tower, we’ll seal the doors shut behind you,” Greagoir said. “The only way they’ll be opened again is if Irving himself asks me to. No matter how many mages you find, if Irving is dead I will judge the situation too dangerous and will be forced to kill anyone that remains inside the Tower, including you. The First Enchanter _must_ be present in order for me to consider the mission complete.”

“That’s a bit excessive,” Rowena said, frowning.

“He’s right, though,” Eruestan said. “If Irving’s been killed, there’s no way the others have survived this long. We accept.” Rowena shot him an angry look. He frowned at her and then turned back to the knight-commander.

“Very well,” Greagoir said. “Next, however, you must cleanse the Tower of any abominations and find the First Enchanter before nightfall.”

“ _Nightfall_?” Alistair said in horror. “What do you mean, before nightfall?”

“The Right of Annulment will arrive at any point today,” he replied. “Once we have it, we cannot wait too long to secure the Circle. If you haven’t found Irving by sunset, I’ll be forced to act.”

“‘Forced’,” Morrigan scoffed.

“Yes, forced,” the commander said coldly. “Regardless of what you think, those are my conditions. Do you still accept?”

“Do we have a choice?” Rowena asked. “We’ll do it.”

Greagoir shrugged. “Very well, then. Men, lead the Grey Wardens to the Tower entrance and unseal the doors. Close them the instant they enter, and if anything should try to escape, kill it without hesitation.” The Templars nodded. “Good luck, Wardens,” he said, bowing his head. “May the Maker watch over you.”

The party walked in silence towards the massive doors leading into the Tower. “You’re all mental, going in there by yourself,” one of the Templars muttered. “Them abominations nearly tore us to shreds.”

“We’ll manage,” Eruestan said distractedly. He was feeling a little overwhelmed, still reeling between his shame and the horror of what was happening in the Tower. It was too strange to think that while the sun shone out on the lake, hundreds of people were being torn apart by monsters inside the building.

The Templars, however, had started glaring at him. “You think you’re better than us, mage?” one of the knights said.

He started. “What? No, no, I meant—”

“He sure as hell did!” Rowena snapped. “And you’ll see it for yourselves when we find the First Enchanter and do your job for you! Now go do something for once and open up these doors!”

“Maker, lady, it’s your funeral,” the knight said, glowering. “I wouldn’t be so excited to get moving.” With a shrug, he and the other Templars moved on to the doors, slowly starting to push them open.

“You have to stop letting these guys walk all over you, Eruestan,” Rowena hissed as they waited. “Learn to stand up for yourself!”

He stared at her and frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t understand, I’m just not used to talking to Templars like that.”

“You can’t do it with anyone!” she said sternly. “Bann Teagan, Lady Isolde, even the rest of us – you’re a Grey Warden now, act like it!”

He looked up at her in shock. She had never spoken to him like that before, and it cut him deeply. “I don’t see how you’re suddenly the expert on being a Grey Warden,” he snapped, ears flushing. “You’re just as new as I am – and if anything, your attitude is worse than mine!”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“All you do is jump down everyone’s throats until they do what you want them to,” he said, hands trembling. “Not exactly the best attitude to have when we’re trying to convince the rest of the country to join us in the fight!”

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, it’s worked out well for me so far.”

“Just because everyone bowed down to Lady Rowena at Highever doesn’t mean you get to order around everyone you meet!” he said hotly. “In case you haven’t noticed, things have changed!”

He immediately regretted saying it. In his anger, he had forgotten what exactly that sentence implied. Rowena stared back at him coldly, looking at him as though she had never seen him before. “I know things have changed, Eruestan,” she said icily. “I know it far better than you.”

He shook his head, instantly filled with guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I—”

“Um…guys?” Alistair whispered, gently pulling them apart. The others were staring at them wide-eyed, all looking a little awkward. “The doors are open and I think they’re ready for us.”

“Thank you, Alistair,” Rowena said, turning away from Eruestan. “Everyone, go ahead of me – or not, however you like. It’s not an order.”

Eruestan frowned at her and looked away, even more ashamed. “Yeah, go ahead of me, too,” he muttered, looking down at the ground. “Otherwise you might trip, since you’re always walking all over me.”

“You are both idiots,” Morrigan said icily, leading the rest of the group into the Tower. Rowena breezed in after her, completely ignoring Eruestan. Now thoroughly miserable, the elf shuffled in after the rest of them. As he walked through, the Templars quickly slammed the doors shut behind them, trapping them inside the Circle.

“Whoa,” Alistair breathed, craning his neck back in the center of the room. “It’s huge.”

A chill went down Eruestan’s spine. They were in the giant entrance hall, only a few feet away from where Jowan had made his escape. Despite everything that had happened, not much had changed. In fact, the light trickling in from the windows made the Tower seem almost peaceful, as if he had never left. All that was different were the tracks of dirt on the floor from when the Templars had made their exit. Still, the strange surge of power he had felt earlier was stronger now, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Do you feel that?” he asked Morrigan.

She nodded, her eyes slowly looking around the room. “The Veil has been torn here. It would behoove us to be prudent.”

“Eruestan,” Alistair said, turning back to him, “what exactly are we facing here? Is it just going to be another situation like with Connor? I mean, that was just a demonic possession too, right?”

Eruestan sighed and shook his head. “You know all the powers Connor has? Controlling other people, telekinesis, all that?” His friend nodded. “Well, imagine that, but paired with a fully trained mage with an unlimited source of energy from the Fade. And then multiply that by the hundreds of mages within the Tower.”

“Oh, good,” Alistair said, eyes wide. “Nothing too bad, then.’

“Do they have any weaknesses?” Leliana asked, slowly reaching for her bow. “They can’t be invincible, can they?”

Eruestan shrugged a little helplessly. “We might get lucky – some of the demons might have gone insane after the possession. All the new senses and emotions they experience make them lose their minds every now and then. Other than that… I’m not sure. Abominations can do a lot of damage. One of them alone is a Templar’s worst nightmare.”

“Dangerous things that want to kill us – nothing new there,” Rowena said, pulling out her sword. “Eruestan knows this place better than any of us, he should lead the way.” She paused and looked back at the elf, her eyes cold. “Don’t take that as an order, of course. I know it’s hard for me to not boss people around.”

Eruestan’s spine went stiff. If that was the way Rowena wanted things to be, then so be it. “The way to the rest of the tower is through that arch,” he said, turning away from her. “We’ll be able to reach the stairs to the top from there, too.”

 The party began heading down the long, narrow hallways, their steps echoing off the high ceilings. The Tower still looked calm, as if everyone had decided to sleep in late. There was a terrible draft blowing in from somewhere, cutting through the fabric of his tunic. He suddenly found himself missing his thick mage robes.

“I can’t believe you grew up here, Eruestan,” Leliana said, looking around at the cold stone walls. “It’s so imposing – like being in a prison.”

“I rather think that was the idea,” Morrigan said drily.

“Guys, I keep telling you, it really wasn’t that bad,” Eruestan said. “The reason we were here in the first place was to keep ourselves safe.” There was a dull thud from somewhere up above that shook the entire tower, raining dust on their heads. Eruestan shivered, unable to imagine the horrors that were going on upstairs.

“This is what happens when you give mages freedom,” Sten said grimly. “The power corrupts them, and they let evil like this pour in from the Fade.”

“What do you mean, ‘freedom’?” Morrigan scoffed. “These mages are like little birds, trapped in a stone cage.”

Sten shook his head. “This is nothing. Under the Qun, we treat the _Saarebas_ like the dangerous things they are. We keep them on leashes, under careful watch of their keepers. The particularly threatening ones have their tongues cut out and their lips sewn shut. This keeps them from harming the innocent.”

Eruestan grimaced and put his hand to his mouth. “That’s horrible, Sten!”

“Magic can do far worse,” Sten replied, gesturing to the walls around them. “It’s always better to be prepared.”

“A funny thing, your preparation,” Morrigan said. “I’m surprised you did not try to sew my lips shut weeks ago.”

"Well, at least now we know it’s an option,” Alistair said. “Better be careful, Morrigan, one false step and zip!”

The witch looked over at him icily. “The only needle you have is the one between your legs, Alistair, and something so brittle and puny would never be sufficient.”

“Come on, I thought we agreed we wouldn’t insult each other’s genitalia,” Eruestan said, walking through a door. “Otherwise, things might take a turn for the—oh!”

His heart stopped for a moment. They had just walked into the Apprentice Quarters.

“Aw, you guys had bunk beds?” Alistair asked, running in behind him. “No way!”

Everything suddenly felt very surreal. The room had clearly been abandoned in a hurry: sheets and pillows had been thrown hastily to the floor, and some of the bunks had even been overturned. Otherwise, though, the room where he had slept for over fourteen years still looked exactly the same. Almost in a trance, he walked over to his old bunk, nestled against the wall hugging the outside corridor. To his surprise, it seemed as though someone new had already been moved in. A toy rabbit had been left under the pillow, while small boots peeked out from under the bed.

“Was this yours?” someone asked behind him. He turned around to see Morrigan standing over his shoulder, a strange look in her eyes.

He nodded, suddenly terribly sad. “They gave it to me when I was four,” he said. “It’s the only bed I’ve ever had. It still feels like it’s mine…” He immediately thought back to the life he had had before the Wardens, and a wave of grief washed over him. Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the bunk and frowned at the look on Morrigan’s face. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “‘Tis…odd, that is all. To think that I could have been raised in this room as well, under the watch of the Templars.”

He laughed. “You’d have put them through hell, I bet.”

“I doubt I would have lasted long in the Circle if that were true,” she said.

Eruestan shrugged. “Not everyone bends to the Templars’ will, you know. Working with them is a big part of leadership in the Circle. People that learn how to deal with them can earn a lot of power here.”

She scoffed. “What real power could they have? Even I know the Chantry controls every decision made in this tower.”

“That’s not true,” he replied, frowning. “The First Enchanter is allowed to make a lot of choices without Chantry approval.”

“And if it goes against the Chantry’s will?” the witch asked. “Are the priests so lenient then?”

Eruestan paused. “Well, the First Enchanter rarely contradicts anything the Chantry—”

Morrigan smiled, a little coldly. “And why is that, I wonder? Does he agree with Chantry teachings on principle, or does he do it out of fear? If this is the freedom all you Circle mages think you have, things are far worse than I imagined.”

Eruestan shook his head and started to say something. However, before he could, there was a loud shriek from a nearby room.

“Where did that come from?” Alistair said, drawing his sword.

“There’s a nursery for the younger apprentices at the end of the hall,” Eruestan said, heart sinking. “I…I think it came from there.”

 The group exchanged a brief, grim look. “Come on!” Rowena shouted, drawing her own sword. “Eruestan, lead the way!”

They raced out of the room, charging down to the far end of the hallway. There were more screams filling the corridor now, along with a strange, warping sound that Eruestan couldn’t identify. Preparing for the worst, Eruestan burst open the door and stopped short.

For an moment, he had no idea what to make of what he saw. A large group of human and elven children was huddled around the door, and many of them started shrieking when they saw him. A group of teenage apprentices blocked the children from the far end of the room, weak sparks of magic flickering in their trembling hands. Most attention, however, was focused on the far door leading to one of the staircases to the higher floors. An elderly mage had fainted in front of it, and two younger mages were desperately trying to revive her with their magic. Another cluster of mages was struggling to maintain a magical shield that was shimmering faintly in the doorway.

“H-hold the b-barrier!” one of the mages shouted through clenched teeth, his arms visibly shaking. “If it b-breaks through…”

There was a horrible keening sound, and suddenly the barrier shattered, throwing some of the mages back. A column of fire was standing in the doorframe, roaring at the room. The flames were morphing, taking the shape of a man with a twisted body and giant arms. The door caught fire around it, sending plumes of smoke rising into the ceiling.

“What is that?” Alistair yelled in horror. Eruestan was too stunned to answer. Instead, he began to wave his hands, ready to encase the Rage demon in ice.

Then, the elderly mage gasped and sprang to her feet. Staff in hand, she slammed the piece of wood to the ground, sending out a burst of white light that enveloped the demon. There was a terrible shriek, and suddenly the beast had disappeared, faint puffs of white smoke the only sign that anything had been there at all.

The room fell silent. The mage stood panting for a moment, and with a wave of her hand extinguished the flames on the door. Then, without warning, she collapsed to her knees.

“Wynne!” one of the mages shouted, racing to her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she gasped, waving the other mage away. “Please, just give me some air. Make sure the children are all right and get that barrier up again right away!”

Eruestan felt weak with relief. He remembered Wynne from Ostagar. If an enchanter was still alive, Irving might still be, too. “What’s going on here?” he asked, approaching the mage. “Are you all right?”

She started and looked up at him. “What in the name of the Maker—oh!” There was a series gasps and cries throughout the room. Eruestan started to recognize some of the faces in the crowd. With a flush, he noticed Inara and Rona whispering furiously to each other, looking at him with shining eyes. Wynne stared for a moment, then slowly rose to her feet. “Thank the Maker,” she whispered. “Eruestan – you’ve come back to save us.”

“We’ll try to, at least,” Rowena said, sheathing her sword. “Are you hurt?”

“Just low on energy, that’s all.” Wynne bowed her head. “Forgive me, the last time we met I don’t believe I had the chance to learn your names – in any case, there seem to be more of you than there were at Ostagar. Again, I am Wynne, a senior enchanter here at the Circle.”

“It’s an honor,” Alistair said, stepping forward. “My name is Alistair, Wynne. Over here is Lady Rowena Cousland – I mean, you don’t have to call her ‘lady’, but she is a Cousland, so I guess you can decide for yourself…Uh…this is Leliana, don’t know her last name…do you even have a last name, Leliana?”

“I do not,” Leliana said, bowing her head. “An honor to meet you, Senior Enchanter.”

“This is Sten, he doesn’t talk much,” Alistair continued as Wynne bowed her head back. “And yes, he’s always that scary. Cormac is Rowena’s dog…and well, you already know Eruestan, so I don’t really need to introduce him. I think that’s everyone…” He looked over the group and sniffed. “Oh, yeah, and then there’s Evil Incarnate, also goes by Morrigan.”

Wynne looked up at him, clearly a bit amused. “Thank you for those introductions, Alistair. I feel quite caught up.”

Alistair shrugged, clearly proud of himself. “What can I say, I’m a people person.”

“That you are,” Eruestan said. “But Enchanter, what’s been going on here? How did all of you survive?”

“First of all, call me Wynne,” she said firmly. “This is no time for silly titles. And to answer your question, all of us managed to survive this long out of pure luck. I was down here treating an ill apprentice on the night of the outbreak. Once we heard the fighting break out, I got as many people as I could in into this room, then set up the barrier before anything else could slip through.”

“Do you have any idea how this could have started?” he asked.

She shook her head. “There’s been a rift in the Veil, we can all feel it – how it happened, though, is anyone’s guess. Perhaps an untrained mage let something slip through, and that triggered a chain of possessions. Everyone’s been afraid since Ostagar, and fear is a powerful conduit for demons.”

“How many mages were left in the Tower?” Rowena asked.

Wynne shrugged sadly. “Hundreds of mages, all the other enchanters, all of the Tranquil, and then Irving himself. What we have here is only a small fraction of those we could have saved.”

“The Tranquil?” Rowena asked. “What do you mean?”

“We can explain later,” Eruestan said. “But is everyone here all right? Should we send for help?”

Wynne shook her head. “The children are tired and frightened, but none of them are hurt – there are food stores in the apprentice supply rooms, and that’s lasted us until now. There’s no need for us to run – besides, the Templars wouldn’t let us out even if we tried.”

“We’ve spoken with Greagoir,” Eruestan said. “He’s allowing us to try and free you from the Tower, provided we find Irving alive — he thinks that if the First Enchanter has been killed, there’s no hope left for the Circle.”

Wynne smiled a bit ruefully. “He’s probably right – although I imagine he’s also terrified of the thought of life without Irving. They’ve been butting heads for so long now they’re practically married. Rest assured, though, we’ll make it through this. If anyone could survive this, it’s Irving.”

“There is another catch,” Alistair said. “We only have until sunset before that Greagoir invokes the Rights…the Rights of…”

Wynne’s face went grim. “Ah. The Right of Annulment.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he said. “Still not quite sure what it means, though.”

“It’s an ancient right that allows the Templars to kill every mage within the Circle by whatever means necessary,” Wynne said. “It’s brutal, highly effective, and hardly ever used. The Knight-Commander made the right decision, though. We’ve waited long enough as it is. If we can’t find Irving by tonight, there’s no hope for the Circle.”

Someone scoffed. “You still support the Chantry, even when they threaten to kill you?” Morrigan asked. “I had no idea how accustomed you had grown to your cage. You almost deserve the fate that awaits you.”

Wynne frowned. “Well. You’re very rude.”

“I tried to warn you,” Alistair muttered.

“She has a point,” Sten grumbled. “Why save these people? If they can’t defend themselves against whatever’s happened here, what use will they be to us against the Blight? All they are is a risk – if we save them, they might very well turn on us later on. We should either abandon these men and women to their fates or exterminate them and remove the threat.”

“We’re not doing that,” Rowena said. “The Circle needs our help – what if we had abandoned the villagers at Redcliffe? Everyone would have died!”

“The villagers of Redcliffe were not walking weapons,” Sten said. “The mages in here are safer to us dead than they are alive.”

“I’m no fan of abominations,” Alistair said cautiously, “but if we want to solve any of the problems we’re already facing, we need the mages. Without their help, there’s no way to heal Arl Eamon without sacrificing someone.”

“So what? Sacrificing one person for the benefit of the world? Worse deals have been made.” Sten shook his head. “A _Saarebas_ is a danger to everyone around him. It is best to end their suffering when the worst happens.”

“I’m not sure where this is heading,” Wynne said slowly, her hands tight around her staff, “but if you act against us, I will not go down without a fight. I will not let you hurt these children.”

“There’s no need for that,” Eruestan said, stepping before her. “We’ll fight for the Circle.” Sten scoffed. “What?” he said. “Alistair’s right, there’s no other way to save Arl Eamon without using blood magic, and I’m not doing that. We’ll find the First Enchanter, end whatever’s going on here, and save the Arl. Is there a problem with that?” The Qunari stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “Good.” He glanced over at Rowena, who turned away.

Wynne relaxed. “Excellent. Wardens, if we’re going to save Irving, we’re going to have to be on our guard at all times. Abominations have all the power of a mage with all the deceit of a demon – they’re extremely dangerous monsters, and we need to be careful.”

“We?” Rowena asked.

Wynne nodded. “I’m coming with you.”

“Wynne!” one of the mages said, stepping forward. “Are you sure you’re strong enough?”

“Strong enough to save the Circle?” she asked. “Yes. I know every corner of this tower – what’s more, I’m rather good at magic, too. I will fight with you – provided, of course, you’ll have me.”

Eruestan exchanged a look with Alistair. Rowena refused to glance over. “We’ll take you,” Eruestan said finally. “It’d be an honor, Wynne.”

“You’re too kind.” She brushed a strand of hair back. “Jaspar, Korinne, come here. I’ll teach you how to properly maintain the barrier while we’re gone.”

As the three mages walked over to the doorway, someone tugged on Eruestan’s sleeve. “Eruestan!” Inara whispered, her face beaming. “You’re alive! We were convinced you died down south!”

“What’s it like out there?” Rona asked. “What’s it like being a Grey Warden? Is it exciting?”

“That’s one word for it,” Eruestan said weakly. Neither of them, however, seemed to be paying much attention.

“You saw darkspawn? What do they look like?”

“Have you met any other mages? I bet they taught you really powerful stuff!”

“Who’s the cute one, by the way?” Inara asked coyly, making eyes at Alistair. “Your friends are _very_ good looking.”

“I’ll say,” Rona agreed, looking back and forth between Rowena and Leliana. “The others, though – isn’t it scary fighting with a _Qunari_?”

“Well, Maker willing, he’ll be more helpful than Wynne,” Inara sniped. “She’s a very powerful mage and all, but still…”

Eruestan frowned. “Why? What’s wrong with Wynne?”

The two apprentices exchanged a look. “I mean, nothing, really,” Inara said. “Like I said, she’s very powerful and knows a lot about healing and barriers…but…”

“When you walked in, she had just collapsed,” Rona said. “No warning or anything, just…fell over. The barrier almost went with her – if the others hadn’t kept it up…”

“She should be fine,” Inara said, noticing Eruestan’s worried look. “Just be careful, that’s all.”

He nodded and looked over. Wynne had finished teaching the other mages her technique and was walking back to the rest of the group. “We should go soon,” she said. “We don’t have much time.”

“Will everyone here be safe once we leave?” Eruestan asked.

She nodded. “Korinne and Jaspar will teach the others how to keep the barrier standing—besides, so long as we manage to kill every creature we find on our way through the Tower, there won’t be anything to come after them. Let’s go now, though.”

The group walked towards the doorway. “Be careful, Wynne,” the mage named Korinne said, her eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure you even need to do this? The Wardens can handle this on their own.”

“At the very least, pace yourself and let the Wardens do most of the fighting,” Jaspar said worriedly. “There’s no need to get yourself killed.”

“Oh, honestly, you two,” she said, tutting. “I got a little faint, I’m not dying. Watch over the children, and keep them safe. If the worst comes…well, make the end easy for them.” She shook her head grimly and put a hand on their shoulders. “I have faith in both of you. I’ll be back soon.”

Neither looked particularly reassured. “Andraste preserve you, Wardens,” Korinne said half-heartedly.

“Like she’s even listening at this point,” Rowena muttered. “Let’s move out.”

The party walked through the doorway onto the landing of the stairs leading to the second floor. After Sten had stepped through, the mages reconstructed the magical barrier behind them, sending a pulse of energy rushing into the room. “Careful now,” Wynne whispered. “The energy will attract anything near us — get ready to fight.”

Eruestan nodded. Suddenly, there was a terrible roar from the top of the stairs. He looked up and froze in fear. Racing down towards them was a horrifying monster, as tall as Sten and horribly disfigured. Bones jutted out of its agonized face, and there were deep gouge marks all over its body, as if it had tried to claw out of its own flesh. Thrusting out a twisted hand, the beast sent a giant ball of flame careening down at the party. Eruestan flinched instinctively, throwing up his hands. Wynne, however, stepped forward and struck her staff on the bottom step, throwing up a barrier of green energy in front of them. The fireball collided explosively with the barrier, shaking the walls and raining more dust on their heads. The abomination howled and started clawing at the magic, screaming in a frenzy.

“Wynne, go ahead and end the spell,” Leliana said sharply, notching back an arrow in her bow. The mage glanced at her and nodded, slamming her staff again and ending the spell. The abomination lurched forward, but an arrow was already sticking out of its forehead, then another, then another. With a final shriek, the beast tumbled to the ground in front of them.

“Well, that was awful,” Alistair said, stepping forward to look at it. Wynne pushed him back sharply and slammed her staff once more.

A small magical dome blossomed around the abomination’s body. An instant later, the monster exploded in a giant fireball, crashing violently against Wynne’s barrier.

Wynne looked remarkably paler when the dust settled a second time. “They always do that,” she said. “When you separate the spirits from living vessels, the rift in the Fade creates a giant explosion.”

Eruestan looked at her complexion and thought of what Inara and Rona had said. “How do you construct those barriers, Wynne? Morrigan and I should try to learn how.”

Wynne nodded, color slowly returning. “Here, it’s fairly simple…”

* * *

 As the mages began practicing the spell, Rowena crouched down to examine the scorch marks left behind by the abomination. The beast had been awful, and it made her feel uneasy. In fact, all this magic around her was putting her on edge. In small doses, magic was amazing, beautiful, even. Watching it go wrong like this, however, was disturbing. _It could be worse,_ she told herself. She liked this Wynne, and at the very least the abominations weren’t worse than the darkspawn. Cormac was whining gently at her side; she rubbed his head and tried to get herself to calm down.

Leliana crouched down beside her. “Incredible,” she murmured, tracing at hand along the burnt stone. “They tell many stories of abominations in Orlais, but I had no idea they were so… _ugly_.”

“I saw a few drawings during my Templar training,” Alistair said, a slight hint of disgust in his voice. “Not that they exactly did them justice.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t let them get too close in the future,” Rowena said, straightening up. “I wish I could throw up those barriers, too – every mage I’ve been up against so far has been too powerful to fight on my own. I really should learn how to deal with them.”

“You know, I should teach you some of my Templar tricks,” Alistair said slowly. “I mean, I never got full training, and without lyrium the techniques are a lot weaker than they are normally, but it’s an extra line of defense against magic – especially the bad kinds.”

She smiled up at him. “I’d like that. Would have come in handy here…but there’s plenty of time to practice later.”

He smiled back, flushing slightly. “Yeah, of course. My pleasure.”

Leliana giggled and rose to her feet. “Maker’s breath, you two are incorrigible,” she said, winking at Rowena.

The two blushed and looked away as the mages walked over. “I think we’ve got it,” Eruestan said. “What did we miss?”

“Evidently we’re incorrigible,” Rowena said, grinning slightly.

“Nothing new there,” he said coolly. “Shall we?”

Stung, Rowena narrowed her eyes and let him and Wynne lead the way up the stairs. She had forgotten her fight with Eruestan in the excitement, but now the anger had come rushing back in. How could he have just looked at her and said the things he did? Just because she had pointed out his own weaknesses with the Templars? None of it made any sense. Wasn’t Eruestan the first one to point out that things in the Circle weren’t as bad as everyone claimed they were? And wasn’t he the one person in the world who knew just how much she had suffered when Castle Cousland had fallen? She gripped her sword tightly and set her jaw. Eruestan had a lot of explaining to do if he wanted her to forgive him.

The hallways at the top of the stairs were a bit wider. There were scorch marks all along the walls, however, and they could now hear distant screams from somewhere up above. Faces bleak, they began walking past a series of large classrooms, most of which were in complete disarray. “We were able to evacuate most of the people on this floor,” Wynne said. “There shouldn’t be any fighting until we get higher.”

Rowena’s eyes started to wander. Imposing as it was, the Tower was beautiful as well. The rooms had high ceilings, and all the windows were fitted with stained glass, sending rays of colored light dappling down around them. Everything looked peaceful, even despite the chaos. Under better circumstances, she would almost have liked to explore the building.

The party turned up a flight of stairs. Now the air was tenser. The screams and howls had gotten louder, and a terrible smell of decay and death was seeping from the walls. Cormac started growling softly.

All of a sudden, Leliana stopped and drew her bow. “Who’s there?” she called out, aiming at the entrance to a darkened room. “Show yourself!”

A figure started moving in the shadows, stepping out to greet them. “There is no need to be alarmed,” someone said in a monotone voice. “It is I, Owain.”

Rowena rushed forward to attack. The voice was so obviously non-human that it couldn’t be anything other than a demon. Wynne, however, grabbed her arm.

“Stop!” she said, holding her back. “It’s just Owain, our quartermaster!”

“Forgive me if I startled you,” he said, walking out of the room. Rowena frowned and looked him over. He had a simple, flat face with deadened eyes, barely acknowledging them as he bowed. She noticed a bright golden sun tattooed on his forehead. “With all the fighting, I was not sure where to go, so I decided to stay in the storeroom.”

“What’s the matter with his voice?” Rowena asked. “Is he possessed?”

“No,” Wynne said sadly. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” Everyone except Eruestan looked at her in confusion. “Owain is a Tranquil,” she explained with a sigh. “The Rite of Tranquility is an ancient ceremony meant to protect mages too frightened of their magic from the threat of possession. The mage in question is put through a series of spells that severs his or her connection to the Fade. In doing so, the subject loses their magic and can no longer be possessed by demons.” She paused and shook her head. “At the same time, they can no longer dream or experience human emotion.”

There was a brief silence. “That’s revolting,” Leliana said.

Wynne nodded. “And yet for some, it’s a relief. Magic can be a great burden for weak-willed people. Every night can turn into a battle against demons trying to possess them through their dreams.”

“Circle mages,” Morrigan hissed. “Afraid of possession like a bird afraid of the sky falling. Yet I have practiced magic beyond the watch of your Templars all my life, and I have never been remotely in danger.”

“I haven’t known you for long, Morrigan,” Wynne said a little briskly, “but I imagine that you have a stronger will than most. For others who are not so fortunate, the Rite of Tranquility is a great mercy.”

“Unless it’s used as punishment,” Eruestan said quietly.

Rowena started and looked over at Wynne. “This can be forced on people?”

The enchanter nodded slowly. “If the Templars think it’s necessary, yes.” Wynne paused. “Granted, it’s rare, but I do agree – it’s a terrible fate to suffer involuntarily.”

Rowena looked back at Owain. The man’s face was blank, even as he heard them talk about his condition. She had never heard of something like this happening; and, to be fair, who really thought about mages in the rest of Ferelden? She knew nothing about their lives, nothing about what they went through. The idea that a misstep in the Circle could be punished by stripping someone of all their emotions, however, was enough to make her stomach turn. She shivered and suddenly wondered if maybe there was a reason Eruestan was so cowed by the Templars.

“What happened to you, Owain?” Wynne asked. “How have you been holding out?”

“The supply room has food,” Owain said. “I have been eating that, and when I am tired I sleep. I try to make as little noise as possible, for I do not want to attract any of the demons. I do not know why, but I would not like to die.”

“You should have come down to us!” Wynne said, placing a hand on his arm. “We would have protected you!”

“Niall said the same thing to me when he came to get the Litany of Adralla,” Owain said. “As I told him, I was unable to leave this room without attracting attention.”

“Niall took the Litany of Adralla?” Wynne asked in surprise. “What do you mean? Is there blood magic going on here?”

“I cannot say,” Owain said. “Niall seemed to think so. He promised to return the Litany once he had finished with it. I would like to have it back soon.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back before long,” Wynne said, her eyes distant. She shook her head and looked back at the quartermaster. “Are you safe here, Owain? Do you want us to escort you downstairs?”

“I am content here,” he said. “The demons will not touch me. I wish you well.”

“The same to you, Owain.” The group let him to retreat back into his room and looked at each other nervously. “This isn’t good,” Wynne said, biting her lip. “I thought this all was just a case of serial possession. If they’re using blood magic, though, every mage we come across could be just as dangerous as any demon.”

“I might be able to help there,” Alistair said frowning. “I trained as a Templar before joining the Order – I should be able to resist most blood magic.”

“Really?” she said. “That’s very helpful. Is there anything else about you I should know?”

“He’s King Maric’s bastard son,” Leliana said. “He might even become the next king.”

Wynne snorted, and then blinked in shock when no one else reacted. “Oh! You were serious?”

There was a loud scream from a room right near them. Blasting open the door, the group stopped and watched in horror as a group of abominations fell onto a mage who had been hiding behind a pile of books, tearing him to pieces.

“Maker preserve us,” Leliana whispered, firing another arrow into an abomination’s head. The remaining three turned around and roared, pouncing towards them. Rowena side-stepped one of the creature’s swipes and cut it in two as Leliana took down a third with another arrow. Sten quickly bashed the last Abomination’s head in with his greatsword. Wynne slammed her staff to the ground, throwing up a barrier just before a series of massive explosions rippled across it.

“Maker, that’s awful,” Alistair said in disgust, looking down at the dismembered mage, whose body was still twitching on the stone in front of them. “Do they have to be so violent?”

 “Well, they are called abominations for a reason,” Wynne said. She looked up sharply. “Wait, what was that?”

There had been rustling from a nearby armoire. Steeling herself, Rowena braced her sword and motioned for Sten and Alistair to open the door. She then lowered her blade when a young woman tumbled out, black hair falling out of the long braid that was draped over her shoulder.

“Please don’t!” she screamed. “I’m not one of them!”

“Careful!” Wynne said sharply. “She could still be possessed.”

  “I’m not, I swear!” the mage cried. “I can prove it, please! My name’s Solona, I’m a Harrowed mage, I’m originally from Kirkwall…and I’m a blood mage!”

“Hold your weapons,” Wynne said to the others. “She’s not a threat.”

“Not a threat?” Alistair said. “She just admitted to being a blood mage!”

“Exactly,” the enchanter said. “If she was really dangerous, she wouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m not a bad one, I swear!” the mage said, trembling as she rose to her knees. “I only did it because Uldred said we needed to!”

“Uldred?” Wynne said in shock. “He’s behind this?”

“He’s been building support in the Tower for years,” Solona said. “You know how passionate he is about our freedom – I didn’t think he actually meant to use his blood magic, I thought he just wanted it as a backup plan, or even leverage…”

“Uldred,” Wynne said, shaking her head. “Sweet Andraste…”

“Uldred?” Rowena asked. The name sounded familiar. “Wasn’t he that unpleasant mage down at Ostagar?”

Wynne nodded. “One of my fellow senior enchanters. He and I escaped the battle together. Halfway back home, however, he managed to slip ahead of me, and used that time to try to convince Irving to throw the Circle’s support to Teyrn Loghain.”

“I already don’t like him,” Alistair said darkly.

“I think the battle changed him,” Wynne said. “He’d always been an advocate for breaking free from the Circles, but after Ostagar he became manic about it, obsessed, even. He said Loghain was the only solution to ending the Blight, and that he would grant the Circle more power than the Chantry would ever give us.” She smiled. “I think I threw a wrench in that, though. Once I told the other enchanters of Loghain’s treachery, Uldred lost all his support in the Tower—or, at least, I thought he did…”

“He was furious,” Solona said quietly. “He said that because of you, we’d all die, that we needed to take a stand if we wanted to survive. And we believed him…” She shivered. “The night this all started, Uldred had us confront Irving and a group of other enchanters in a corridor. He yelled at Irving and told him that he was ruining our only chance at survival. Irving told him to calm down and go to his office, but by then it was too late. Uldred, he…he pulled out a knife and used blood magic to—to summon a Pride demon…”

Eruestan gasped and stared at Solona in horror. “A Pride demon? Are you sure?”

She nodded. “There was a flash of light and for a moment, I could see it perfectly—it looks just like the descriptions in all the books. Then it walked over to Uldred and it just… _disappeared_ inside of him. That’s when the attacks started.”

“Was Irving injured?” Wynne asked in alarm.

She shook her head. “He tried casting a spell at Uldred, but the demon blocked it. By that time half of us had already been possessed. Once Irving saw that, he grabbed as many people as he could and vanished down the hallway. I don’t know what happened to him after that.”

“What did you do?” Eruestan asked.

“Honestly?” She shook her head and shudder. “I ran. I had no idea that was what Uldred had in mind. No amount of freedom is worth being taken over by a demon. I know some of the others have been fighting on the fourth floor, but I’ve been trying to find a way out this whole time.” She suddenly stopped and stared at them nervously. “I guess that brings me here.”

“What do we do now?” Alistair asked quietly, his sword still clutched in his hand.

“Please, have mercy,” she said, falling on her knees. “I never meant to hurt anyone, I just thought this was a chance to be free. Please, spare me.”

Eruestan stared at her for a few seconds. “Send her downstairs.”

“What?” Alistair turned to him. “Eruestan, she’s a blood mage – the worst kind of maleficar. She’s a threat to everyone in this tower!”

“I know about maleficar, Alistair,” Eruestan snapped. “You don’t grow up here not learning about them. But we didn’t come to kill mages, we came to recruit them. With half the Circle dead or possessed, we can’t afford to be picky. We send her downstairs, and we have her fight for us.” Alistair frowned, but didn’t say anything.

Eruestan looked down at the mage. “Did Irving see you when Uldred attacked?”

She bit her lip. “I…I don’t think so. The corridor was dark and there was so much going on, I doubt he noticed.”

“No one else will be able to identify you, then,” he said. “What do you think, Wynne?”

She thought for a moment. “At this point, it hardly matters who’s a maleficar and who isn’t,” she said finally. “Take the south stairs down to the Apprentice Quarters and tell them I sent you. If you value your life, you will tell no one about your blood magic.”

“Of course. Thank you, Enchanter,” Solona said, her face flushed with relief as she rose to her feet. “All of you, thank you! Find Uldred and end this!”

As Solona disappeared into the dark, Eruestan turned to Wynne. “If what she said is true, we’re in more danger than anyone could have guessed,” he said bleakly. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to fight off a pride abomination.”

“What do you want us to do?” Wynne asked softly. “Go back? The only way we can survive is if we try and fight Uldred. Our best chance is to find Niall and the Litany – if we can use it to end the blood magic, we’ll be protected from anything even a Pride demon can throw at us.”

“Then let’s find this Niall,” Rowena said quietly. She looked at Eruestan appraisingly. Maybe she hadn’t been fair when she had criticized him earlier. The mage, however, did not look back at her. “Solona said there’s been fighting on the fourth floor — I bet we’ll find whoever this Niall is there.”

The party started moving through the rest of the tower. As they climbed to the fourth floor, signs of a terrible struggle became more and more visible. Bodies littered the floor, while blood and scorch marks were splayed against the walls. Everywhere, books and furniture lay in ruins, either broken or torn to pieces. The Tower now seemed to be echoing with screams, the fear vibrating off of the walls around them.

“This is sickening,” Eruestan said as they moved through a study room that had been sprayed with blood. “Where are all the mages? Solona said there was fighting.”

“Something tells me they didn’t win,” Alistair said, grimacing as he looked at the walls.

“All this destruction because of one man’s grab for power,” Wynne said sadly. “We _must_ find the Litany.”

“Let’s try through this door,” Eruestan said. “It’s quiet, maybe Niall and the others have regrouped there.”

He opened the door and stopped short. Rowena looked over his shoulder and paused, more confused than afraid. Mages littered the floor, their hair gray and their faces shriveled. In the center of the room stood a horrific abomination holding a mage up by his collar. Spikes were jutting out of the creature’s body, and its veins were bulging out of its muscled arms. The monster seemed to drawing something out of the mage, although Rowena wasn’t sure what it was. The abomination tossed him to the ground and wiped its mouth. Eruestan looked at the mage and whispered, “Niall.”

Alistair and Leliana gave horrified gasps as they realized what was happening. Cormac began to howl, drawing the demon’s attention.

“Well, well, well,” it said in a soft, deep voice. It sounded like a lullaby, and suddenly Rowena’s sword felt heavy in her arm. “Look what we have here.”

Wynne instantly brandished her staff. “Everyone, get back!” she shouted. “It’s a Sloth demon!”

“Now, now, why all the yelling?” the demon said, turning towards them. “Everyone should just relax.” Rowena wasn’t sure what a Sloth demon was, but already she could feel the exhaustion of the past few days catch up with her. In fact, she could barely keep her eyes open.

“Stay awake,” Wynne said, fighting back a yawn. “If we…if we…fall asleep…we’re…lost…”

Rowena’s legs were giving out beneath her. Cormac had already fallen asleep at her side, and the others were crashing to the floor around her.

“Yes, sleep,” the demon said softly, its voice echoing inside her head. “Sleep, sleep. Leave this cold world behind.”

And she did.


	22. Fading In and Out

“ _Eruestan…Eruestan…wake up…_ wake up!”

Eruestan’s eyes fluttered open. He was back in his bunk, back in his apprentice robes. His head rang funnily as he sat up – not quite a headache, but still unpleasant. The Apprentice Quarters were surprisingly bright for the morning. He blinked and squinted, trying to figure out what was going on.

Jowan was standing in front of him, shaking his head. “Maker, you’ve been asleep for ages,” he said. “You must have been really tired!”

“Jowan?” Eruestan said. Something was wrong, though he had no idea what that could be. “Where am I?”

“Antiva,” Jowan said, snorting. “What are you talking about? We’re at the Circle!”

Eruestan furrowed his eyebrows. He had dreamt about something – had he always been at the Circle? His dream was getting harder and harder to remember, nothing but a few vague flashes that were already getting fuzzier and fuzzier. “But…I was outside the Tower…the Blight…”

“Scary, isn’t it?” Jowan said, sitting down next to him. “I heard King Cailan’s calling for the army to march down south – do you think we’re finally going to get out of here?”

Eruestan pinched his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. For some reason, it felt terribly important that he remember his dream. Something felt horribly wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “But…I was there…” he said in frustration. “I was at the battle…at…at Ostagar…?”

“Ostagar?” he said, frowning. “Where’s that, even? I swear, you have the weirdest dreams sometimes…”

Had it all just been a dream? The harder he tried to remember, the less he could. His bunk was getting more and more comfortable; maybe it was for the best to try and forget. He smiled weakly and shook his head. “Sorry, it was just so… _real_. Whatever happened, I felt like I lived it.”

Jowan rolled his eyes. “You’re always saying that. Guess you’re just too connected to the Fade or whatever.” He sighed. “Maker, when am I going to get my Harrowing?”

Eruestan sat up straight. A chill went down his spine, as if he had been struck by lightning. He leapt to his feet and backed a few steps away from his friend, his hair standing on end. “Stay back, Jowan,” he said sharply. “You’re a blood mage.”

Jowan frowned. “Was that part of the dream, too? Weird.”

“It wasn’t a dream!” Eruestan snapped. “It really happened. You betrayed us – you were…I was…”

“ _Hey_!” They jumped and turned around. Three Templars had entered the Apprentice Quarters and were running angrily toward them, hands on their swords. “What are you two doing here?” one of the knights barked. “You need to be in the dining hall now!”

“That’s not a rule,” Eruestan said, frowning.

The Templar crossed her arms. “Are you doubting me, mage?”

He held out his hand, trying to focus. His thoughts were too blurry, and he couldn’t figure out what was going on. He didn’t want to cause any trouble, but at the same time he needed to focus on Jowan—or did he? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, screwing up his face and trying to think. “I just…I needed to talk to my friend…”

“That can wait,” one of the other Templars said harshly. “Move along!”

“Eruestan, come on,” Jowan said, pulling his arm. “We don’t want any trouble.”

Eruestan started to follow him, his head still foggy. He was suddenly angry, irrationally angry. These Templars had no right to make up rules around him! How dare they drag him around like this! Didn’t they know who he was?

“ _You’re a Grey Warden now, act like it_!”

He gasped and stood up straight. His friend Rowena had said that. Rowena was a Grey Warden. He was a Grey Warden. The Blight. The Tower. The Sloth demon. He stood frozen in shock in the middle of the dormitory, reality crashing down on him. Slowly turning his head, he looked out the nearest window. Looming in the distance was a tall, blackened spire.

“Andraste’s tits,” he said. “I’m in the Fade.”

There was a loud crack. “You shouldn’t have said that, Eruestan,” Jowan said, turning towards him. Lightning started to crackle from his hands as the Templars drew their blades.

“Oh,” Eruestan said, taking a step back. “Shite.”

The one nearest Templar charged at him, swinging his sword madly in front of him. Eruestan yelped and jumped back, falling into one of the bunks. He scrambled out the other side as the knight cut through a bedpost with his sword. Leaning around the side, Eruestan shouted “ _Fulmino_!” and sent a lightning bolt careening into the knight’s chest, blasting him off his feet and throwing him a few feet back. A moment later, the knight’s body turned into the smoldering corpse of a dead demon. The other two knights roared and tore after Eruestan.

 The mage began to run frantically down the row of beds, shooting smalls bolts of lightning haphazardly over his shoulder. The demons, however, dodged aptly around them, closing the gap between them and the elf. Thinking quickly, he threw up a magical barrier in the middle of one of the aisles. The first Templar crashed into it and sprawled to the floor. The third, however, skirted around it into the next lane, racing to catch up to him. Panicked, Eruestan tried to run faster and tripped, crashing to the ground. The Templar ran up to him, her sword raised high – instinctively, he thrust out a hand and encased her in a sheet of ice. She stood frozen in place for a moment, black empty eyes looking around frantically. With a grunt, Eruestan thrust out his hand and sent her flying to the back wall where she, too, fell to the ground and transformed into a demon.

 The last Templar had climbed back to his feet and was now charging at him. No longer afraid, Eruestan drew his hand back and jabbed forward, muttering, “ _Stilia_.” An ice spike jutted out of his hand and embedded itself in the knight’s skull.

Panting, Eruestan looked down the aisle to see Jowan staring at him, lightning still crackling in his fist. “Well, well, well,” the demon grumbled in a voice far deeper than Jowan’s. “You’re stronger than we thought.”

“Goodbye, Jowan.” Before the demon could cast his spell, Eruestan swept his hands brusquely to the side. A small piece of wood that had been dangling off the broken bed frame to Jowan’s side sped through the air, impaling itself in the demon’s neck. The lightning in his hand faded instantly. Falling to his knees, Jowan fumbled at his neck for a few seconds before shooting one last baleful look at Eruestan and transforming into a demon corpse.

Eruestan dropped his hand and blinked. He then gasped. He had been immediately transported out of the Tower and into the twisted landscape of the Fade. He was standing in an empty plain, surrounding by jagged cliffs and mottled brown skies. The tall grass around him seemed to be whispering, as if excited to have a stranger in its midst.

He was not alone, however. Someone was weeping near him. He turned around and started. A few feet behind him, Rowena was hunched over on her knees, crying into Cormac’s neck.

“Rowena?’ A second later he jumped back in terror. His friend had risen to her feet impossibly fast, her blade pointed at his chest.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on,” she snarled, tears staining her cheeks, “but by the Maker, you’ll tell me or I’ll rip you to pieces!”

“It’s me, Rowena!” he said, face white. “It’s Eruestan!”

With a growl, she began to charge at him. Before she could, however, Cormac barked happily and stepped between them, wagging his tail at Eruestan. Watching her hound, Rowena let her arm drop. “Eruestan!” she gasped, her face lighting up with relief. “Is that really you? Thank the Maker!”

“I’m so glad I found you!” he said in a half-sob, hugging her. She held him tight for a moment, burying her face in his shoulder. They pulled apart and looked at each other. Rowena looked horribly shaken, her eyes red with tears. “Are you all right?” he asked, peering into her face.

She nodded and wiped her cheeks. “I just saw something pretty awful, that’s all,” she said quickly, clearing her throat. “Eruestan, what is going on?”

“Can you not tell?” he asked grimly. “We’re in the Fade.”

“ _This_ is the Fade?” she said in horror, looking around. “Maker’s breath…I thought it would be…prettier?”

“Some parts are, I think,” he said, shrugging. “We’re just not in those parts.”

“How’d we even get here?” she asked, turning back to him. “Last thing I remember, we’d come across that demon in the Tower.”

“A Sloth demon,” Eruestan said. “They feed off human energy and try to trap us in what would make us content.”

She smiled bitterly. “What an arse – he did a good job, at least. I dreamt I was back at Highever.”

Eruestan’s heart panged. That explained her tears. If she had been at Highever, that probably meant she had had to kill her family. “I dreamt I was back at the Tower. The demon must be trying to trap us in our pasts.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Well, I guess it actually is a good thing my past is a fucking nightmare, then.” Cormac whined at her side, and she bent down to scratch his head. “So, wait, these aren’t really our bodies, then?”

He shook his head. “Be careful, though. If we die here, we die in real life.”

“Oh, perfect.” She stood up and looked around, grimacing at their surroundings. “Do you know where everyone else is?”

“No idea,” he said. “I don’t know how to get out of here, either.” Out of nowhere, something sprouted out of the ground in between them.

With a yelp, they jumped back and looked at what had appeared. It was an ancient pedestal, as twisted and crooked as the rest of the Fade around. It was covered in strange runes that began to glow as they slowly walked closer to it.

“What is it?” Rowena asked. “Can it help us?”

He paused. It looked a lot like the pedestal he had used to enter the Fade during his Harrowing. But what did that mean? Would it take them back to the Tower? Potentially. Would it bring everyone else back as well? Probably not.

“I’m not sure it’s what we need,” he said, turning around again. “Let’s try to look around, there might be something else— _ow_!” He had collided into the pedestal, which had managed to jump in front of him.

He frowned and turned around again. The pedestal was before him once more. He paused, then spun around quickly – it moved with him. “This is being remarkably persistent.”

“Maybe we have to use it,” Rowena suggested. “After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh, that could be a lot of things,” Eruestan sighed. “But maybe it’s best if we don’t think about them. Come on, take my hand.” They grabbed each other’s arms, Rowena’s other hand resting on Cormac’s head.

Eruestan looked over at her, his face a little flushed. “Before we go, though, Rowena? I’m…I’m sorry. About earlier.” He paused and grimaced. “I wasn’t thinking – I shouldn’t have said what I did, I didn’t think about what it would mean.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t understand – I shouldn’t have said what I did, either.”

“No, you were right, though,” Eruestan admitted. “I do need to stand up for myself more – and not just to the Templars, to other people, too.”

“I didn’t need to say it like that, though,” she said. “And Eruestan? I’m glad I’m here with you.”

He smiled. “I’m glad I’m with you, too.” There was a brief pause as they smiled at each other warmly. Then, Eruestan coughed and said, “You know, you were technically supposed to say that I was right, too…”

Rowena was already looking back at the pedestal. “Don’t ruin the moment, Eruestan.”

“Ugh, fine.” They both looked down and reached into the basin, Rowena keeping one hand on Cormac’s collar. Like a magnet drawing iron, both their hands were dragged slowly to the same rune in the center, a strange scratching that seemed to morph under their touch. There was a flash of light, and suddenly they were standing on a small island floating in the emptiness of the Fade.

 “Well, this is a gross dream,” Rowena remarked.

“Eruestan?” someone said from beneath them. “Is that really you?”

They both looked down to see Niall sitting against a large rock behind the pedestal, stranded on the Fade island. He was looking up at them in shock, as if stunned to see another human being.

“Niall!” Eruestan cried, crouching down next to him. “It is you! Rowena, this is Niall, the man we’ve been looking for!”

“What are you doing here?” Niall asked, clutching Eruestan’s arm. There were deep bags under his eyes, and his hair was lying flat on his head. Eruestan frowned; the Sloth demon must have already drained a great deal of energy from him. “How did that Sloth demon get you, too?”

“We came back to help!” Eruestan said, helping him up to sit on top of the boulder. “We’ve been looking for you! We think we can save the Circle!”

He shook his head. “Who’s going to save you, though?” he asked bitterly. “There’s no getting out of here.”

“What do you mean?” Rowena asked.

He pointed back at the pedestal. “This thing. It leads nowhere. I broke out of my dream soon enough after I was brought here, but every time I try to leave this place, that pedestal takes me to a different island with stronger and stronger demons. There are impossible obstacles, too – rooms full of fire and doors that you can’t open. We’re stuck here, forever.”

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged a look. “There has to be a way out,” Rowena said firmly, crossing her arms. “I don’t care how strong this demon is, nothing is invincible.”

“Do you have the Litany of Adralla, Niall?” Eruestan asked. “We know there’s blood magic going on, we were hoping you could help us.”

“Not much use now, am I?” he asked grimly. “It works – I just wasn’t able to use it before the Sloth demon took us all under. Now it’s all too late.”

“We’ll see about that,” Rowena said, turning back to the pedestal. “Eruestan, come here. I want to see how far we can get with this thing.”

Eruestan nodded and rose to his feet. “We’ll be back, Niall,” he said, walking up next to her.

“Yes, you will,” Niall said glumly. The two of them placed their hands into the basin, their fingers lingering over a carving on the right side of the bowl. There was a flash of light, and suddenly they were standing in the middle of a burning building.

“Maker!” Rowena gasped, jumping back. Cormac yelped and started to run around frantically. Terrible heat crashed down on them from all sides, licking at their clothes and singeing their hair.

“Get behind me!” Eruestan yelled, stepping forward. Taking a deep breath, he thrust out his hands and yelled, “ _Glacio_!” A cone of freezing air spiraled out from his palms. Moving slowly in a circle, he managed to extinguish the room, revealing a simple, smoldering guard station.

“This place,” Rowena said as the smoke cleared, “is terrible.”

“Tell me about it,” Eruestan said. “Now what should we do – _Maker’s breath_!” The nearest door had burst open without warning. A flaming, screaming Templar had charged through, flailing his sword through the air as he ran at them. Jumping in fear, Rowena took a step back and readied her sword. Eruestan, however, simply waved his hand and put out the flames with a blast of cold air.

“Oh!” Shocked, the Templar tripped over himself and crashed at their feet. For someone who had just been on fire, he looked remarkably intact. The knight panted there for a moment, and then looked up at Eruestan a bit sheepishly. “Uh…thanks for that.”

“My pleasure,” Eruestan said, his heart still pounding. “Any chance you could tell us what’s going on?”

“I’ve got no idea,” the knight said, shrugging. “This whole place has been on fire for a while – I’ve been running around here like that for days.”

“Well, you know, everyone’s got to have a hobby,” Rowena said drily.

“Ain’t that the truth,” the knight said. “You’re not seriously going to walk through here like that, though, are you? You’re going to burn to a crisp!”

They looked at each other. “I mean, do we have any other choice?” Rowena asked.

“Yeah, fair enough,” the Templar conceded. “Just be careful. Fade fire is about ten times hotter than normal fire.”

Eruestan frowned. “Have you been on fire before?”

“Yeah, and I wouldn’t recommend it,” the Templar said. “Be careful, though, there’s a demon here and he’s not going to be happy to see you.”

“Thanks for the hint,” Rowena said. “Are you going to be all right?’

“Oh, I died days ago,” the Templar said, waving her off. “Hope things work out better for you guys, though!”

He then vanished through the room’s ceiling.

Rowena turned back to Eruestan. “This is what I imagine snorting elfroot feels like.”

He laughed grimly. “All right, let’s see what’s going on here – hopefully we can start to figure out where the others are.”

The three began running down the halls of the building. Eruestan led the way, beating down the flames with his frost magic. Surprisingly, in the Fade he didn’t feel as though his spells cost him any energy, and he was able to cast with impunity. It was a rather intoxicating feeling, one only mildly dampened by the fact that they were being hunted by deadly demons.

The hall ended in a large, circular room, lined with flame and molten stone. “All right, where’s this demon he was talking about?” Rowena asked, looking around the chamber with her sword drawn. “Let’s get this over with.”

Suddenly, the flames on the walls flared up and stretched to the center of the room. The strands of fire began to morph together, taking the shape of a giant Rage demon. It towered over them, its muscled, fiery arms spouting bursts of flame that scorched the walls of the chamber. “ _Fools_!” it roared. “ _You all will burn_!”

Eruestan stepped in front of it. “We’ll see about that,” he snarled. “ _Glacia magna_!”

The ray of frigid air that burst out of his hands was so powerfully cold it cased his fingers in ice. Still, the spell did what he had wanted it to. Before the demon could even swipe at them, it had turned to solid ice, just as the other Rage demon had during his Harrowing. He stared coldly at the small flicker of flame in the center of the ice statue and flexed his hands. “ _Frango_ ,” he said clearly. There was a pulse of energy, and the demon shattered into a thousand pieces.

A blast of cold wind swept into the room from down the hall. It swirled around Eruestan, Rowena, and Cormac, tumbling them together and lifting them high into the chamber, smashing them through the stone ceiling. Before they knew it, they were standing in an empty corridor, clutching at each other in shock.

 “We really need to stop doing that,” Rowena gasped, letting go of Eruestan’s arm. She looked back at him, impressed. “That was a really powerful spell – where did you learn that?”

He shrugged and looked down at his hand. “I think I’m just stronger here,” he said. “Maybe it’s about confidence – I think the Fade responds to how you feel. I bet if we’d actually been afraid of that demon, we’d have been much weaker.”

She puffed out her chest proudly. “Well, that works out for me. I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Which, funnily enough, is terrifying to everyone else who knows you,” Eruestan said. “Where do we go from here, though?”

As he said it, a door a few feet away from them creaked open loudly. “Subtle,” Rowena remarked.

“Hey, at the very least it doesn’t look like it’s on fire,” Eruestan said. “Small blessings, right?”

The room beyond was pitch blank and completely silent. Exchanging a worried glance, they both took a deep breath and walked forward. Then Eruestan blinked, and he was standing in a tropical paradise.

Waves were crashing on the beach as tall palm trees swayed in the sea breeze. The sea stretched out as far as he could see, shimmering beautifully in the sunlight. A fleet of longships was anchored to rocks in the bay, bobbing up and down in the water. Cormac barked happily and started jumping in the waves.

“Now why couldn’t I have been sent _here_?” Rowena sighed, walking after him.

 Eruestan smiled and looked down the beach. He had never been anywhere like there before – it was just like what he imagined it would be. As he looked down the water, however, he saw something that made him jump. “Rowena! Look! There’s Sten!”

There were about five Qunari discussing something earnestly under the shade of the palm trees. Sten stood above them, dressed in the full regalia of a Qunari warrior. As they drew nearer, Eruestan began to fully realize how impressive and terrifying Qunari soldiers were. They were all as tall as Sten, with the same bulging muscles and steely blue eyes. In their pointed steel armor and spiked helmets, they all looked horribly ferocious. To his surprise, all the other Qunari had giant horns. Only Sten lacked a pair.

“ _Ferelden yolculuk uzun ve tehlikeli olacaktır_ ,” one of the soldiers was saying, gesturing to the ships. “ _Biz daha fazla malzeme ve erkeklerin daha fazla sayıda gerekir_.”

“ _Daha erkekler_?” another said. “ _Arishok bu kararı yetki vermiştir_?”

“ _Arishok gün uzakta bizden, biz onun görüş sabırsızlanıyorum_!”

“ _Ona karşı giderek Çun karşı gidiyor_ ,” Sten said. “Rowena, Eruestan, you may approach. _Ben Çun karşı herhangi bir hareket izin vermez_.”

“What’s he saying?” Rowena whispered as they walked towards them. “You speak Qunlat, right?”

Eruestan frowned and looked back at her. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged. “You’re smart?”

“Well, thank you,” he said. “I don’t speak Qunlat, though.”

 “You don’t need to,” Sten said before turning back to his men. “ _Yoldaşlar, bu saldırı affet_.”

“ _Sten, bu bas kim_?” one of the soldiers said, glaring at them.

“Men, these _bas_ are from Ferelden,” Sten said in Fereldan, standing up from the sand. The soldiers bowed to him before turning to Eruestan and Rowena. “This may be your only chance to practice your command of the language before we land there ourselves.”

“Um…hi,” Eruestan said awkwardly. The Qunari were staring at him hostilely, some of them resting their hands on the hilts of their weapons. “Sten, do you recognize us?”

“Of course,” he said. “You are Rowena and Eruestan, Grey Wardens from Ferelden. You have recruited me to join the fight against the Blight, and we are all currently asleep in the Circle of Magi.”

“These are Grey Wardens?” one of Sten’s soldiers asked. “They are weak.”

“They are _bas_ ,” one of his fellows spat.

“Tell them to stop calling us ‘things’,” Rowena said distractedly. “And how can you realize what’s going on without them turning into demons?”

“Is that what they do?” Sten asked. “Huh. Interesting.”

“Yeah, very,” Rowena said, staring at him with her eyebrow raised. “And yes, that is what they do. It happened to the two of us.”

He thought for a moment. “You both broke free, though?”

Eruestan nodded. “Independently of each other.”

Sten was silent. “I wonder if you two are much stronger than I first thought.”

“Yeah, that’s probably fair—I, uh, mean, what…what do you mean?” Rowena said, frowning as Eruestan nudged her in the ribs.

Sten looked at them for a very long time, letting the crashing waves wash over their feet. The water felt warm and soothing underfoot. Finally, he sighed and nodded. “It is a long story,” he said. “It might take a while.”

“We’ve got a lot of time,” Rowena said. “At least, I think we do.”

The Qunari nodded and turned his back on his men. “You knew in Lothering that ‘Sten’ was not my name, it was my title,” he began. “‘Sten’ means ‘commander’, and I was commander of the Beresaad, ‘those who reach ahead.’”

“You told me that,” Rowena said. “You said they were the Qunari vanguard?”

“Yes,” Sten said. “We explore unknown territory for the Qun, forging new paths and discovering new knowledge. Usually, we are sent ahead for information that helps our armies invade new lands. This time, however, we were sent to Ferelden to learn more about the Blight.”

“Why do you tell them of our mission, _kadan_?” one of the soldiers asked. “They are _bas_!”

“Do not interrupt the Sten!” another shot back.

“ _Taashath_ ,” Sten said. “Allow me to speak.” The soldiers fell silent, their eyes looking back on the sand. “Qunari lands have mostly been spared by Blights in the past –the Deep Roads do not go as far as Seheron or Par Vollen. We were curious for more, eager to learn how to best defend our people. That was why we were woefully unprepared for the darkspawn when we first met them in Lothering.”

“There wasn’t many of them – perhaps they were just a vanguard for the horde themselves. But they tore us to pieces. During the battle, I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, these men were dead and this,” he said, unsheathing a beautiful greatsword, “was gone.”

One of the soldiers perked up in the background. “What do you mean, we were dead, _kadan_?”

Rowena skated over the sensitive topic. “It’s a beautiful sword, Sten,” she said. “Look at the craftsmanship.”

“It is a cheap reproduction,” he said, sheathing it. “The trappings of a dream. But what a good dream…”

Rowena and Eruestan glanced at each other. “Sten?”

“A warrior of the Qun is deeply connected to his blade,” he said, looking out onto the sea. “It’s a relationship you cannot understand – our swords are our souls. Losing them, we become worthless – shameful creatures, shells of what we once were.”

Eruestan bit his lip. “This might be a dumb question,” he said. “But can’t you just get a new one?”

Sten shot him a withering look. “Can you get another soul?” Eruestan winced and quickly shook his head. “It is my biggest disgrace,” the Qunari continued. “That, and the deaths of my men.”

“Why does the Sten keep saying we died?”

Sten ignored him. “I want nothing more than to forget what had happened,” he said. “Everything I have let happen. And then… When I first realized that Asala, my sword, was gone, I went berserk. I wasn’t in control of myself, more an animal than a man. That’s why I killed the farmer and his family – it was an act of frenzy, not evil.” He shook his head and took off his helmet, his eyes terribly somber. “I could not forgive myself. Everything I have done since coming here has haunted me, and will continue to haunt me for the rest of my life. So, being here, being able to escape the past, was too tempting to resist. However,” he said, looking back up at them, “I can only assume that such an attractive offer was also made to both of you, and that you both managed to resist it. You are therefore stronger than I am.”

“You’re still very strong, Sten,” Eruestan said compassionately. He still didn’t quite understand why the sword was so important, but he could see the pain in Sten’s eyes, and seeing someone so powerful look so vulnerable was surprisingly moving.

“For what purpose?” he asked. “My efforts have only brought me pain and dishonor. I have failed my men, I have failed myself, I have failed the Qun. What point is there in moving forward?”

“What are you saying, Sten?” Rowena asked.

He was silent for a moment. “Leave me here. Let my shame be my mark on the world – let that be my punishment.”

“Bullshit,” Rowena said. Eruestan and Sten turned to her in surprise. “That’s bullshit, Sten. You have a chance to correct your mistakes, and you want to run from it? You want these men to have died in vain?”

“Rowena,” Eruestan said warningly. She cut him off with a finger.

“You have an obligation to the world now, Sten,” she said. “The Blight is descending on all of us, and you’ve given your word to help stop it. You think letting your men die is your great shame? Turning your back on Thedas with the Blight at our heels would be even greater. Stick to your word, Sten – you owe these men that.”

Sten stared at her for a long time, his face still as stone. Eruestan twitched his fingers, ready for a fight. “You are right, _kadan_ ,” he said finally. “Forgive my weakness.”

“Forgiven,” Rowena said. “Now come on, let’s go.”

“What are you doing?” one of the soldiers shouted, rising to his feet. “You can’t abandon us! What of the Qun?”

“I have already left you, _kadan_ ,” Sten said. “You just don’t know it yet.”

“ _Sten_ ,” one of the soldiers said, grabbing his arm, “ _Bizimle kal._ ”

“ _Yapamam_ ,” Sten replied, turning away. There was a loud crack that rippled across the water, turning it black. The palm trees withered overhead, and the sand turned to gravel beneath their feet. Eruestan winced and looked over to see all the soldiers draw their weapons, glaring at Sten murderously. Bowing his head, Sten drew his blade and stood them down. Rowena, Cormac, and Eruestan fell into position behind him. “No,” Sten said, holding out a hand. “I will end this.”

The first Qunari was charging, his sword held low. Sten waited until he was a few feet in front of him before spinning around, sticking out his sword and slicing off the soldier’s head. It flew through the air and landed in the blackened sea as its body turned into a demon and fell to the gravel. Roaring, two other soldiers ran towards him – Sten’s first blow shattered the first one’s blade. The other Qunari moved to flank him, but Sten smashed in his nose with the hilt of his greatsword, then plunged the blade into the first soldier’s stomach. Pulling the sword free, Sten swung his arm back and sliced through the second soldier’s skull. There was one soldier left, screaming murderously as he charge at them. Without blinking, Sten leaned back and chucked his sword forward, plunging it into the last soldier’s chest.

The waves crashed onto the beach, swallowing the dismembered demon corpses. “Remind me never to make you angry,” Rowena said in awe.

He smirked and drew his sword from the demon’s body. “The Fade is a tricky pla—”

Eruestan blinked, and he and Rowena were back in the hallway.

“What happened?” Rowena asked sharply as Cormac barked furiously, running around the hall. “Where’s Sten?”

Eruestan shook his head, frowning. “We definitely freed him – he might have woken up?”

“Why didn’t we wake up, then?” Rowena asked. “For all we know, he might be trapped somewhere else!”

There was a creak behind them. Another door had opened, leading to a second dark room. “There’s no going back,” Eruestan said. “All we can do is keep going where it wants us to.”

She frowned, but nodded and walked forward with him. The door closed behind them, and suddenly they were back in the Tower.

Eruestan instantly felt nostalgic. They were standing in one of his old classrooms, looking down a row of desks filled with young apprentices practicing a small fire spell. Most of the students seemed to be having trouble focusing their energy, creating small sparks that sputtered out after a few seconds. He smiled broadly to himself. Even if it was just a dream, he felt right at home.   

Rowena, however, was less impressed. “Great, a classroom,” she said. “I guess we found the nightmare part of the Fade.”

Several of the children in the room looked up at them with narrowed eyes and hushed them. “Oh, bite me,” Rowena shot back. “You’re all just little demons, anyways.”

“What’s going on here?” someone asked. They looked up to see Wynne stand up from a student’s desk, a gentle yet puzzled look on her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t normally allow visitors into my classroom,” she said politely yet firmly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Wynne, it’s us,” Rowena said. “Rowena and Eruestan.”

The enchanter paused for a moment, a hint of doubt flashing in her eyes. She then shook her head and began to escort them out. “No, no, I’m sorry, we’ll have to do this some other time. Please try and come back later.”

 “There won’t be a later!” Eruestan said. “We’re in the Fade, Wynne!”

“The Fade?” she said, frowning. “Impossible. I’ve studied the Fade for my entire life, I would know if I were there or not.”

“Try to remember how you got here just now,” Eruestan said, turning around and blocking the door. “Do you know how?”

“Of course I do,” Wynne said in frustration. “I…I…” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I…that’s strange, I can’t concentrate. I’ve…I’ve never had this much trouble thinking before…”

“Don’t you remember all the fighting at the Tower?” Rowena asked. “Everything Uldred did?”

She began to look concerned, a hand drifting to the back of her neck. “Maybe…I should leave this room,” she said, looking around nervously. “I need to…to reflect…”

“Don’t go, Wynne!” a young boy said, rising up from his desk. “We still need you to teach us!”

“What am I doing teaching new apprentices?” Wynne said, her eyes growing wide. “And who are these children? Am I…are we really in the Fade?”

There was another crack, and the students leapt up from their seats, howling in rage as they dove to attack them. Eruestan froze. He wasn’t ready to fight a group of children, even if they were demons. Wynne, however, was already brandishing her staff. “Stay back, demons!” she thundered. “You have no power here!” With that, she slammed her staff to the ground. A ray of white light ripped across the classroom, crashing into the demons and destroying them in a burst of energy.

Wynne leaned heavily on her staff. “Unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head. “To think that after all my years of study, I can still be taken in by some demon’s cheap trick. How humiliating.”

“How did you do that?” Eruestan asked in shock. “That was incredible!”

“What, that?” Wynne asked in surprise. “Oh, it’s just a trick of the Fade, you have to—”

Eruestan, Rowena, and Cormac were back on Niall’s island.

“Piss on Andraste!” Rowena snapped. “Why does it keep doing that?”

“You’re back!” Niall gasped. Eruestan frowned as he looked down at the other mage. Niall’s hair was turning gray, and the skin around his eyes had started to wrinkle. “You killed one of the demons, didn’t you? I could feel the ripples from here!”

“Are you all right?” Eruestan asked. “You don’t look very good.”

He laughed weakly. “I think the demon is taking its toll. I feel fine, don’t worry, just a little tired.”

“We’ll take care of all of this soon,” Rowena said firmly. “By the way, did anyone pass through here? A Qunari or Enchanter Wynne?”

Niall shook his head. “A Rage demon stalked through here a few minutes ago, was that one of them?”

“It’s going to be me in a few minutes,” Rowena muttered.

“Probably not, Niall,” Eruestan said, shooting her a look. “Hang in there – we’ll be back again soon!”

This time, they found themselves standing in a field, surrounded by sunflowers that reached up to their chests. A light breeze made the flowers rustle gently around them. Eruestan frowned and tried to look around. “Do you see anyone?”

Rowena shook her head. “Wait—listen!”

“It’s a lovely day for a picnic, my love.” A man was speaking somewhere near them in the field. “Would you like another cookie?”

“I would,” someone else purred. “You’re a wonderful baker, my pet.”

Eruestan waved his hands. A burst of wind sent the stalks around them bending back, revealing a small clearing not far from where he and Rowena stood. A Templar knight was laying down on a blanket, staring fondly at a pretty mage with long blond hair who was gently stroking his face.

“Erm, Eruestan?” Rowena murmured, blushing. “Maybe we should let them be? I think we’re intruding…”

“Who’s there?” the knight said sharply, sitting up straight. He looked back at them, his eyes glazed over. “Who are you?”

“No one, my love,” the mage cooed. “Travelers, that’s all.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Eruestan said meekly. “We were just—” The blonde mage looked up at him, and instantly she turned into a young man. He yelped and took a step back as Cormac started to growl beside them.

“Rowena,” he said, “look her in the eyes.”

Rowena jumped. “Your Majesty? What are you doing here?”

Eruestan frowned. “‘Your Majesty’?”

The man laughed, a cold, throaty sound. He looked a bit like Ser Gilmore, only thinner, more lithe. Eruestan was suddenly starting to feel a little warm. “Stay here, my pet,” the man murmured to the Templar, rising to his feet. “They want to talk to me for a moment.”

“Don’t be too long,” he cooed back, staring up at him lovingly. “The cookies will get stale.”

The man smiled at him, then turned back to Eruestan and Rowena with a dark look on his face. “You two are spoiling my fun.”

“Eruestan, what’s going on?” Rowena asked in alarm. “Why is the king talking to us?”

“It’s not the king, Rowena,” Eruestan said, taking a step back. “It’s…it’s some sort of demon…” The spirit was incredibly good-looking, one of the most handsome men he’d ever seen. In fact, it was almost as if he had been made for him, like someone had read his thoughts, knew exactly what he wanted…

Eruestan gasped. “Get back! It’s a Desire demon!”

 “Of course it bloody is,” Rowena sighed, drawing her sword. “I bet all these sunflowers are demons, too.”

“Let’s not be rash,” the demon said, eyeing her weapon. “I have what I want, I see no need for us to fight.”

“What do you mean?” Eruestan asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Desire demons were some of the most powerful beings in the Fade, and it was never a good idea to enter into a deal with them.

The demon pointed back to the Templar. “That is my prize,” it said. “His body has long since withered. Without me, his soul will die, too. Why ruin his happiness and take his life? Let us live together in peace.”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘happiness’,” Rowena said harshly. “You’re selling him a bunch of lies.”

“I could say a lot about happiness in your world in response to that, but I’m afraid we really don’t have the time,” the demon said cattily. “What say you? There’s no need for this to come to blows.”

“Don’t listen to it,” Eruestan said. “It’s lying – it just wants to trap us like it did to this man.”

The demon’s eyes were slowly turning black in front of them. “So,” it said, its voice deepening to a snarl, “is that a no?”

“Definitely not,” Rowena growled, readying her sword. “We’re not afraid of you, demon!”

The spirit laughed coldly. “Fools!” it thundered, throwing out it arms. Purple scales sprouted over its skin, and sharp claws began bursting from its fingers as horns grew from its head. The sky above them turned black as the sunflowers began twisting violently in a strong wind. The demon slammed its hands to the earth, and suddenly the flowers’ stalks were shooting up into the air, trapping them like the walls of a prison cell. “You will never take what is mine!”

Eruestan spun around blindly, unable to see in the darkness of the field. Something was laughing cruelly at him, the sound echoing in his ears. Suddenly, one of the sunflowers bent in half and grabbed at him, its petals sharp as steel. With a yelp, he swung his fists wildly through the air and sent out a burst of fire that blasted through several of the stalks. More and more plants began lunging for him, throwing themselves down so violently that they plunged into the earth beneath them. Terrified, he began running through the stalks frantically, completely disoriented. Sunflower stalks were sprouting up everywhere, biting and snapping at him as he raced past. He began spouting fire left and right, hoping to fend the flowers off.

Someone was slashing through the field nearby. Unsure if it was Rowena or the Templar, he dove to the ground as they stormed past. Instantly, sunflower roots began circling around his wrists, dragging him deeper into the earth. With a burst of strength he broke free and destroyed them with another ball of flame. More roots leapt up to grab him, and with a yell he jumped back and landed once more in the clearing.

“Well, well, well.” The demon was standing over him, a young man once more. He was now sweaty and naked, sleek, toned muscles covering his tall body. Eruestan couldn’t move. “You’re a fighter,” the demon cooed, bending close to his face. “Maybe you’d make a better pet after all…” Then, a sword jutted through his chest.

The demon’s eyes grew wide. Rowena pulled her sword back out of its body in disdain, wiping the dirt from her face. With a final groan, the spirit collapsed to the ground, dead, slowly morphing back into its demonic shape. The wind picked up, the sunflowers withered, and suddenly they were in another hallway.

Rowena slumped against the wall and caught her breath. “You tell anyone I saw King Cailan,” she said, glaring at him, “and I swear I’ll gut you.”

“Fair enough,” Eruestan said, wiping his forehead. “Don’t know how exactly that would come up in conversation anyways.”

She conceded that point with a nod. “Who’d you see, anyways?”

He paused, thinking of the demon’s naked body. “Not important.”

“That’s not fair!” she protested. “You know mine!”

He scoffed. “And who’s fault was that?”

She stared at him for a moment. “Was it…was it me?” she asked awkwardly.

Eruestan blinked. “Well, that’s awfully conceited.”

“Hey, you’re the one who won’t tell me,” she said, blushing.

“It wasn’t you,” he said, shooting her a look. “No offense, but you’re not quite my type.”

“Yeah, to be fair, I already kind of picked up on that,” she said. “Who was it, then? Alistair?”

Eruestan rolled his eyes. “Closer, but he’s not really for me, either.”

There was another pause. “Was it Sten?”

Eruestan almost choked on the air. “What? No!”

“Hey, you’re the one being all shady,” she said. “And come on, you’re kind of small, he’s kind of big – it’s almost romantic!”

“Can we just keep moving?” he grumbled, climbing to his feet. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”

“Sure, sure.” She stood up with him and grinned. “Good look getting him inside, that’s all I’m saying.”

Eruestan flashed her a very rude gesture before walking through the nearest door. It closed behind them and brought them to a small kitchen.

It was a cozy, warm room with a large fireplace and a well-stocked larder. Cormac barked happily and ran towards the nearest ham. Rowena shrugged and let him bite into it. “What?” she asked, seeing the look on Eruestan’s face. “It’s not even a real ham.”

“I’ll go and see what that was, Goldie!” someone shouted. A minute later, Alistair walked into the room, a broad grin on his face. “Oh! It’s you!” he said happily. “It’s so great to see you, it’s been so long!”

“Alistair, thank the Maker!” Rowena said, rushing forward and hugging him. “We need to get you out of here, come on!”

He wasn’t listening. “Goldie! Look what I found! My friends from the Grey Wardens!”

“Goldie?” Eruestan asked.

“I’m his sister,” someone said in a terrible falsetto. “Goldanna.” Rowena and Eruestan stared at her as she walked into the kitchen. The demon had decided that the best way to portray Alistair’s sister was to literally be Alistair, but with a long blond wig.

“Oh, Alistair, come on,” Eruestan said after a moment. “You can’t be serious.”

“That’s what I thought, too!” he said happily. “I knew I had a sister, but I never thought I’d meet her—and here she is!”

 “I’m so happy to finally be reunited with my baby brother!” Wig-Alistair chirped. Alistair wrapped his arm around the demon’s shoulder and nestled his head against it.

“I’m going to be sick,” Eruestan said, looking away.

“He does look happy, though, doesn’t he?” Rowena said, smiling fondly.

Eruestan stared at her. “Think about what you just said and look back at him.”

She shook her head. “Right, right…Alistair! We have to go!”

“What?” he said, standing upright. “No, we can’t!”

“We have to,” Eruestan said. “We have a job to do.”

“Don’t take my little brother!” Wig-Alistair cried. “Come, stay for dinner!”

“Alistair, this isn’t your sister,” Rowena said. “This is a demon.”

“I like you, but you’re being very mean,” Alistair said, frowning. “Don’t be rude to my sister.”

“Yes, don’t be rude to me,” Wig-Alistair said, glaring at them.

“Try to think about how you got here, Alistair,” Eruestan said. “Try to remember.”

“All right, but only because you’re my friend.” He paused. “Huh. Strange. I can’t…really recall. I was…I was in a tower…the Circle Tower…there were demons…” He stopped and took a few steps away from his sister. “Something…something’s not right. I need to get out of here.”

The room cracked. The flames in the fireplace flared and sputtered out, and the food on the larder rotted in front of their eyes. The demon wearing the wig pulled a giant cleaver out from behind its apron. “You can’t leave,” it said in a low growl. “You are mine, forever!”

Alistair was frozen in shock. The demon swung at his face, inches away from taking off its nose. Luckily, Cormac, who had been busy with his ham until this point, pounced and knocked the demon to the ground. Before it could get up, Rowena stepped forward and whacked its head off, sending its wig flying into the air.  

Alistair’s jaw had dropped. “What the—how did you—was that—what—”

“A demon,” Rowena said, sheathing her sword. “We’re in the Fade, Alistair.”

“The Fade?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Huh, usually there are more people laughing at me in the Fade—”

They were back in the hallway.

“This is starting to get tedious,” Rowena muttered as she stormed through the next door. Eruestan followed her and found himself in an exquisite salon.

He immediately felt self-conscious. The room was magnificent: beautiful marble floors, large glass windows with silk curtains, delicate wood furniture, and an impressive ceiling mosaic made of crystal and precious stones. A group of people were taking tea in the center of the room, chatting brightly with each other as they sipped out of delicate porcelain cups. They were all dressed in brightly colored silks and expensive jewels, each wearing an intricately carved mask. An elegant elderly woman wearing a beautiful bronze stag’s mask was sitting at the head of the room, masterfully leading the conversation.

 “ _Madame l’Impératrice aime trop les bals masqués_ ,” she was remarking, setting down her teacup. “ _J’étais absolument choquée de recevoir sa dernière invitation au Palais d’hiver._ ”

“Shite,” Rowena muttered. “We’re in Orlais.”

“ _Une soirée à Halamshiral n’est pas aussi douloureuse que ça, ma chère Cecilie_ ,” one of the other ladies said. “ _On ne peut pas ignorer la beauté du palais._ ”

“ _Les critiques nous disent que la beauté est mieux appréciée d’une distance_ ,” the hostess replied. “ _Si oui, j’aimerais donc évaluer le palais depuis la sécurité de ma propre maison, à Val Royeaux._ ” The other nobles tittered and burst into polite applause.

“Bloody Orlesians,” Rowena said, rolling her eyes.

Then, someone started singing. Eruestan started and looked over to see Leliana emerge from behind a tapestry. She was wearing a simple mask and playing a small lute, singing something in Orlesian. Her voice was beautiful, like silk falling from the ceiling. It may have just been the Fade, but for a moment Eruestan was so transfixed that he forgot where he was and what he needed to do. Her song made his heart ache, reminding him of lost loves he had never had. Then, Cormac started barking. The sound jolted him out of his trance.

“Leliana!” he and Rowena both shouted. “It’s us!”

The music screeched to a halt as everyone in the room stared at them in shock. Bizarrely, Eruestan felt embarrassed, even if everyone else was just demons.

“What eez zees?” the elegant elderly lady said, setting down her teacup. “You are being most rude!”

Rowena ignored her. “Leliana, I know you recognize us!” she said. “None of this is real!”

Leliana fumbled with her mask and tore it off. “I do recognize you,” she stammered. “But…but I don’t know how…”

“Do not speak to zem, Léliana!” Lady Cecilie snapped, rising to her feet. “‘Ooever you are, I demand zat you leave my ‘ouse _tout de suite_!”

Embarrassed, Leliana turned to exit through the tapestry. “Leliana!” Eruestan cried out. “Your vision from the Maker!”

She froze and turned around. “My vision…”

Eruestan was ready for the ‘crack’ this time. As two vicious nobles lunged for him, he lifted a tea table with magic, blasting it and the nobles behind it back to the nearest wall. Next to him, Rowena had plunged a butter knife into the chest of the snarling lady clawing at her face. The remaining four had surrounded Leliana, who was dodging their lunges and grabs as if in a trance. A nobleman rushed at her, but she smashed her lute into his head. Grabbing the broken handle, she spun around and whipped the chords across a noble’s face, leaving deep gashes over her eyes. Screaming, the lady dropped the knife she had been brandishing. Leliana snatched it and used it to slit the noble’s throat. She then threw the knife into the nearest nobleman’s right eye.

All that was left was the lady of the house, her curls falling lopsided down her face. “ _Léliana_ ,” she said, breaking a leg off the nearest side table, “ _je t’avais dit de rester sage devant mes invités…_ ”

“ _Silence, démon_!” Leliana cried. “ _Va te faire foutre_!”

The lady howled and charged at her. Fast as sin, Leliana swept her off her feet and plunged the broken lute handle into her back.

The room fell silent. “What the _hell_ is happening right now?” Leliana asked, staring at the dead demon that had been her mistress.

“We’re in the Fade, Leliana,” Eruestan said. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and climbed to her feet. “All things considered, I suppose.”

“Was that the Comtesse de Nivers?” Rowena asked. “I feel like I met her.”

“What? Oh, yes, yes,” Leliana said a little distractedly. “My mother worked for her in Ferelden, but she went back to Orlais with Madame before I was born. After she died, Madame Cecilie helped raise me.” She sighed. “That is, until I—”

As if on cue, they were on Niall’s island once more.

“There you are,” the mage said, panting slightly. “You got another one, didn’t you?”

“Niall,” Eruestan said, horrified, “what happened to you?”

The mage looked ancient. His hair was white and brittle, and his face was lined and spotted with age. Eruestan could barely believe that the wizened old man in front of them was the young man he had almost shared a room with. “The—the Sloth demon’s feeding off me,” Niall said, struggling to stay upright. “You have to hurry, I don’t have much energy left.”

Eruestan and Rowena looked at each other in concern. “Keep fighting it, Niall!” Rowena said. “We’ll get you out of here!”

He nodded weakly, groaning from the effort. “You will…I know you will.”

The two of them plunged their hands back into the basin, ready to end their dream. They immediately found themselves back at Flemeth’s hut.

“Only Morrigan left,” Rowena said, looking visibly paler. “I was hoping we wouldn’t come back here.”

“Don’t worry,” Eruestan said, seeing the look on her face. “Remember, it’s just a dream and a demon. It’s not the real Flemeth.”

As he said it, the door to the hut flew open and Morrigan stormed out, looking angrily over her shoulder. “Leave me be, demon!” she snapped. “You are most annoying!”

“Morrigan, dear, do come inside,” Flemeth said, hobbling into the doorframe. “Your dinner is getting cold!”

Morrigan gasped in frustration. “My mother is not this pleasant, demon! Either release me from this illusion or make a great deal better!”

“Morrigan!” Rowena said, running up to her. “Are you all right?”

The witch started and looked over at them. “There you two are!” she snapped, her face flushed. “Help me get rid of this demon once and for all!”

“Wait, I don’t understand,” Eruestan said. “How do you already know you’re in a dream?”

“Morrigan, here,” Flemeth said, walking up to them. “I knitted you this scarf, you’ll catch your death of cold.”

Morrigan looked back at Eruestan flatly. “If you think my mother knits, you’re stupider than Alistair.”

“No, it’s just, normally the demons fight us once we figure it out,” Rowena said, watching as Morrigan knocked the scarf out of Flemeth’s hands in irritation.

“I know nothing more than either of you about how this works!” Morrigan said, glaring at the demon. “I have been stuck here for ages, trying to find a way out, and all this idiot does is keep acting like a real mother!”

“You all just must be hungry,” Flemeth said, shaking her head. “That must be it. Here, I think I have some cookies in the house…”

“My mother does not even know what cookies are!” Morrigan shouted at her. She turned back to Eruestan and Rowena, her eyes flashing in anger. “Get me out of here, I cannot take much more of this!”

Eruestan hesitated, not sure of what to do. “I mean…have you tried attacking her yourself?”

The witch shot him a scathing look. “No, Eruestan, I am a complete and total idiot and barely have the brain capacity to keep breathing every morning. Of course I have! She just blocks everything I try!”

“Look, we’ve spent too much time talking already,” Rowena said, drawing her sword. “Game’s over, demon! We’re taking Morrigan with us!”

The demon turned towards her slowly, a odd look on its face. “Strange,” it croaked, its eyes gleaming. “And here I thought I gave my daughter to you once already, Wardens.”

Eruestan’s eyes went wide. “Rowena, put your sword away.”

“What? Why?” She looked over and, seeing the look on his face, instantly jumped back a few feet. “Shite,” she whispered. “Is that…?”

“Mother?” Morrigan asked in disbelief. “Is that really you?”

“Of course it’s me, you dolt of a girl!” Flemeth said sharply. “Do you really think I’d let my only daughter fall prey to some lowly Sloth demon? Shameful!”

Morrigan huffed in frustration, her cheeks flushing. “Then what was the point of all this charade? Why torment me?”

Flemeth cackled, her laughter ringing out into the Fade. “Even old women like to have their fun, dearie. You of all people should know that.”

“So, wait, how are we getting out of here?” Rowena asked nervously, her sword still held out in front of her. “We don’t have to fight you, do we?”

“Not yet,” Flemeth said mysteriously, grinning at her wickedly. “Rest easy, Wardens, I was merely keeping an eye on my Morrigan until someone showed up to take her back. You will face no resistance from me – the fight ahead of you will be hard enough.”

“Fight?” Eruestan asked sharply. “What fight?”

Flemeth didn’t answer him. Instead, she started whistling again, looking to the sky as she retreated back into her hut, slamming the door behind her.

Morrigan gasped, her face white. “She is _extremely annoying_!” she hissed, clutching her arms so tightly it turned her knuckles white. “Well, we shall see who’s laughing when she discovers what I have found!”

“What’s that?” Eruestan asked.

He blinked, and they were back on Niall’s island. “That was everyone, wasn’t it?” Rowena asked excitedly. “Are we free?”

“There’s just the Sloth demon left,” Eruestan said, looking around. “Where’s Niall, though?”

There was a quiet, weak moan from the other side of the boulder. Cormac bounded around it and began to whine. Rowena and Eruestan looked at each in apprehension and walked around to the other side as well.

Niall lay sprawled out on the ground, a shriveled shell of what he had once been. Clumps of his white hair had fallen out, and his face was wrinkled beyond recognition. Eruestan cried out and dropped to his knees beside him. “Niall!” he said, propping his head up on his lap. “Here, Rowena, help me, I’m going to try to revive him—”

“Not worth it,” Niall gasped, barely able to look up at them. “Too…too late for me.”

“Don’t say that!” Rowena said, crouching down at his other side. “We’ll kill this demon and we’ll get you out of here!”

Eruestan bit his lip. Looking down at Niall’s withered face, he could tell that the mage was slipping, barely able to keep his eyes open. “I’m so sorry, Niall,” he said quietly. Rowena looked up at him sharply and closed her eyes in resignation. “We took too long.”

He shook his head. “Don’t…be stupid. You did…so much…” He coughed violently and laid back on Eruestan’s lap. “More than me,” he said. “My mother…when she found out about my magic, she told me I was going to do something great. Guess…guess she was wrong…”

“Don’t be silly, Niall,” Eruestan said gently. “You fought so long for so many days, you defended the Circle.”

“The C-Circle…” He looked up at Eruestan. “Never…never did much for the C-Circle…your robes are still in my room…I should have helped you…” He took a deep breath and steadied his voice. “You two are going to get out of here. I know you are. When you do, take the Litany of Adralla off my body. Save the Circle and stop that bastard Uldred.”

“Niall…” Eruestan said, deeply moved. “We…we will.”

“We should go,” Rowena murmured, bowing her head. “I don’t know if we have much more time.”

Eruestan looked down at Niall’s ancient face and shivered. “I’m sorry, Niall. I don’t want to leave you here all alone.”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I’m…fine,” he murmured. “Find the Litany…make Mam proud…”

“Let’s get out of here,” Rowena whispered, rising to her feet as she quietly drew the Circle of Sacred Flame on her forehead. Niall had fallen asleep, struggling to breathe. Eruestan gently nudged his head off of his lap and traced the Circle on Niall’s forehead, too. Then he stood up and followed her to the pedestal. One rune in the center was left glowing.

“Are you ready?” Rowena asked, looking over at him.

He grabbed her hand. “Let’s finish this.”

They were standing in a rugged valley, the ground dry and cracked beneath their feet. The sky was boiling, and a strong wind pelted their faces with sand and small stones. In the center of the valley stood a hooded figure, its shoulders hunched against the wind.

“So active, so determined,” it drawled, turning towards them. “I invited you into my realm so you could rest, and this is how you repay me? How rude.”

“Back off, you monster,” Rowena snapped, drawing her sword. “You’ve already tried to trap us in here once, you won’t succeed again!”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the demon said, chuckling slowly from underneath its hood. “You belong to me now, don’t you see? You’ll sleep with me forever.”

Eruestan felt his eyelids droop. In a burst of anger, he shook his head and forced himself to stay awake. “That won’t work, demon!” he yelled. “We came here to kill you!”

“Kill me?” the demon said softly. “That’s not true, is it? You came here to kill each other, didn’t you?”

There was a young woman standing in front of him. She had red hair and a long sword, and for some reason he hated her. He had no idea who she was, but he knew that she had hurt him. She was evil, she would kill him – that is, if he didn’t kill her, first.

She was already swinging her sword at him, slashing at the air between them in a frenzy. He dove back and tried to encase her in ice, but she was able to dodge the spell and keep charging at him. Gritting his teeth, he blasted her back with a wave of magic. She rolled to her feet and with a terrible battle cry rushed at him, ready to cut him in two. Holding out a hand, he started to summon a ball of lightning, ready to blast her to ash. That was when a dog jumped in between them, howling at them both. Dog. He knew that dog, didn’t he? Where did he…

“Cormac,” Eruestan whispered. “Rowena, stop!”

Her sword was inches from his face. She stood completely still for a moment, then dropped her arm, horrified. “Eruestan!”

“ _Fools_!” the demon bellowed, its voice rippling through the air. “I would have given you everything!” It began to rise up above them, storms clouds swirling in the sky. “Why would you resist me?”

The ground was shaking beneath. Cracks began to widen under their feet, spreading down the length of the valley and forcing them back against the rock wall. Lightning struck at the mountain wall, raining down boulders large enough to crush them into paste. The valley itself was shifting around them, threatening to throw them into the gaping void that had opened up before them. They pressed themselves further against the cliff wall and suddenly Eruestan was afraid, very afraid, more afraid than he had ever been.

_Yes_ , a voice inside his head said. _You are weak and afraid. Embrace your fear. Stay with me…forever…_

Eruestan began to nod, hands clutching the rock behind him frantically. Then, he touched Rowena’s hand. The two looked over at each other, and suddenly a surge of courage ripped through both of them.

_No!_ the voice screamed. Eruestan didn’t listen. Where fear had been was only anger and confidence. He was filled with power, more power than he had ever known. He thrust out his arms, catching the boulders with one hand and channeling the lightning with the other. With a scream of rage, he thrust his hands forward, blasting the demon with the power of the skies and the land.

Rowena was already flying towards the demon as the spell crashed into its body, growing to twice, three times her size. She knocked the demon aside with a shield the size of a door. It hissed and threw her back with a wave of magic as down below Cormac howled, his call echoing in the emptiness of the Fade.

Eruestan brought lightning down from the sky again and thrust it at the demon. For a moment he felt Wynne and Morrigan beside him, channeling energy into his spell. They disappeared as the demon’s body lit up with electricity, its shrieks splitting Eruestan’s ears. Leliana broke into the dream, shooting arrows at the demon, and suddenly Sten and Alistair had joined Rowena in the fight, ducking and weaving around the waves of magic blasting out from the spirit’s body. Then Eruestan blinked and everyone except Rowena had vanished, her sword shining and flashing through the air. The demon swiped and clawed at her, but she was a blur, too fast to hold back.

The Fade was tearing itself apart around them; the sky itself was shattering. People were flying in and out of the fight, stripping more and more of the demon’s power away from it. Magic was pouring out of Eruestan as he began to absorb parts of the Fade itself. He was glowing now – the demon shrieked from the light and thrust a bony hand out to him, attempting to bath him in darkness. The others disappeared, and all he could see were shadows, crashing down on him as the ground crumbled to pieces beneath his feet.

_You will obey!_

“ _Enough!_ ” he screamed, throwing back his head. There was a blinding flash of light…


	23. The Fight for the Tower

…and Eruestan was on the floor. He blinked, feeling the cold stone under his cheek, and pushed himself up slowly. There were groans all around him as the others sat up as well.

“Maker,” Alistair said, massaging his neck. “Are we still in the Fade? Somebody pinch me.”

“If you wish.”

“Ouch! Maker’s breath, Morrigan, how strong are your fingers?” Alistair asked in shock, jumping away from her. “So wait, did all that really happen.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Wynne said, wincing as she rubbed her shoulder. “We were lucky to make it out alive.” She looked over at Rowena and Eruestan. “Thank you, both of you,” she said. “I can’t believe I was so foolish.”

“It almost had all of us fooled,” Eruestan said. “Rowena and I were just lucky – and then Niall…” His voice trailed off as he looked down at the floor. Niall’s ancient, withered body lay at their feet, his wrinkled eyelids closed peacefully.

Wynne gasped and bent down next to him. “Oh, no,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “Is this really Niall? He’s so… _aged_ …”

“They all are,” Leliana said, looking around at the mages lying dead in the room. “Look how many the demon killed…”

Eruestan looked around and shuddered in horror. At least twenty mages had collapsed around them, their faces as shriveled as Niall’s. “Maker,” he whispered, trying not to look at any of them too closely, mainly out of fear that he might recognize one of their faces.

“It’s awful,” Alistair murmured, shaking his head. “What did this demon do to them?”

“Niall said the demon was draining his life energy,” Rowena said. “We met him in the Fade before he died.”

“He also said that he’d found the Litany of Adralla,” Eruestan said, turning to Wynne. “He told us to take it off his body.”

 Wynne nodded and bowed her head. “Niall was always a lazy boy,” she said. “Always getting in trouble, too. I’m glad to know he was a hero in the end.” She knelt down and ruffled through his robes, pulling out an ancient scroll. “Here it is – the Litany.”

Eruestan looked over her shoulder as she unrolled it. It was not long, only ten or twelve lines scrawled shakily in old Tevene. Eruestan skimmed it with interest, marveling at how the letters seemed to glow with golden light. To his surprise, the text read more like a part of the Chant of Light than an incantation. “How does it work, Wynne?” he asked.

“The incantation and the parchment go hand-in-hand,” she said, rising to her feet. “There are enchantments in the ink and in the vellum that give it incredible strength. When anyone reads aloud from it, the two work together to end any blood magic in the area. It’s one of the most powerful artifacts in the Tower – Niall was right to go looking for it.” She gripped it in her hand and, to Eruestan’s surprise, began to smile. “We might actually stand a chance now,” she said. “This should be enough to save both Irving and anyone else we come across.”

“We should hurry, though,” Leliana said, pointing out a window. “The sun’s already setting.”

Eruestan looked out the window and paled. Leliana was right; the sky outside was starting to turn orange. “We need to find Irving now,” he said. “Wynne, do you have any idea where he might be?”

She shook her head. “He must be higher in the Tower. We’d hear a fight if it were on this floor.”

They ran upstairs, racing against the fading light. The higher they went, the worse the damage to the Tower became. Terrible scratch marks had been gouged into the walls, and the floor was covered in splintered wood and broken bits of stone. Yet the Tower had fallen silent. Eruestan was slowly beginning to feel alarmed. If the violence had been as bad as that, how could anyone have survived – even Irving?

As they climbed to the sixth floor, someone nearby screamed in agony. They turned around the landing and froze. A mage was being held down by two abominations while a third was attempting to force itself down his throat.

Before anyone could react, Wynne had pulled out the Litany. “ _Maleficus sanguinis_ ,” she said, her voice ringing out in the room. The abominations looked back and froze.  “ _Abstinere!_

_Ira Creatoris gero_

_Sponsa eius gladius meus est._

_Daeonum potestas non potest laedere me._

_Creator te odit._

_Est pluvia pro deserta tua_

_Est ignis pro glaciem tuum_

_Est antidotum pro venenum tuum_

_Creatoris, dirigat gladium meum_

_Andrasta, lenit cor meum_

_Retine me!_

_Non potes me pugnare!_

_Valeo, daemon!_

_Valeo!”_

The abominations shrieked and burst into pieces, spattering everyone with their entrails.

“ _Andraste’s tits_!” Alistair cried. “It’s in my mouth! It’s in my mouth!”

Wynne ran up to the mage. “Are you all right?” she asked, checking his mouth. “What were they doing to you?”

The young man shuddered, his eyes a little wild. “They…they’ve been doing it to all of us,” he panted. Some of us turn…others just…split…” He turned over and vomited.

Wynne clucked soothingly and stroked his hair, her eyes betraying her horror. “You’re safe now,” she said. “Is there anyone else here? Do you know where Irving is?”

He nodded. “They’ve been taking the enchanters up to the Harrowing Chamber…everyone else they’ve been dealing with here…”

Wynne frowned and nodded. “We’ve cleared the rest of the Tower – if you can get downstairs, there’s a safe spot with a group of other mages. Tell them I sent you. Are you able to walk downstairs on your own?”

He nodded. “Please – there weren’t many of us left up here, but if you can find them, save them.”

“We will,” she said. She rose to her feet and turned to the others. “We need to hurry, now,” she said urgently. “The Harrowing Chamber isn’t far from here, follow me.”

She led the way up to the top floors of the Tower, her face grim with determination. With the Litany in her hands, Wynne was able to destroy every abomination they came across, saving the handful of mages left alive that high up in the building. For most, however, they were too late. The carnage at the top was revolting, enough to turn Eruestan’s stomach. Bodies now littered the floors, dismembered and burned beyond recognition, and blood soaked their feet as they raced through puddles in their run to the top. The screaming was getting louder and louder; underneath it, however, was a strong current of power that practically made Eruestan’s hair stand on end. He shuddered and kept running forward. Maker willing, they wouldn’t be too late.

Suddenly, Wynne stopped and grabbed the wall, her knees buckling under her. “Wynne!” Rowena said in alarm, grabbing her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, panting slightly. “Forgive me, I’m fine,” she panted, color slowly coming back to her face. “I just…no, it’s nothing.” She took a deep breath and stood back up, leaning heavily on her staff. “There, I – wait, do you hear something?”

They paused and listened. Someone was praying loudly at the end of the hall.

“Oh, great,” Alistair said faintly. “Wasn’t creepy enough without the weird praying.”

“Who’s there?” Rowena called. “Show yourself!”

The praying only grew louder. It echoed down the hall, laced with terror and desperation and underscored by the screams coming from the top of the Tower. They walked forward slowly, their faces white with tension. Once they reached the end of the hall, however, they all stopped and stared.

A young man in a nightshirt was floating five feet off the ground, trapped in a glowing magical cage. Behind him, awful screams were echoing out into the room from a large iron door. Tears streamed down the man’s face as he prayed over the shrieks and howls.

“O Maker, hear my cry,” he shouted, his eyes closed. “Guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places…”

“I recognize him,” Wynne said, hand to her mouth. “He’s a Templar.”

Eruestan looked closely and started. “Cullen!” he said, recognizing the knight who had been at his Harrowing. “Cullen, are you all right?”

The knight shuddered visibly at the sound of his voice. “My Maker, know my heart,” he sobbed. “Take from me a life of sorrow, lift me from a world of pain, judge me worthy of Your endless pride…”

“Ser Cullen,” Wynne called, stepping forward. “Can you hear me?” The knight closed his eyes even tighter and began shouting his prayers. “We need to destroy this cage,” she said urgently to the others. “I’m going to try to use the Litany.” She pulled it out once more and read from it, her voice overpowering the screams coming from the other room. There was a flash of light, and suddenly the cage vanished. Cullen collapsed to the ground.

“You’re…you’re setting me free?” he whispered, pushing himself up. The knight looked awful. His face was white, and his nightshirt was filthy with foul stains. His eyes looked wildly over all of them, bloodshot and angry. “What type of trick is this?”

“It’s not a trick,” Eruestan said, kneeling down in front of him. Cullen stiffened and breathed in sharply. “We’re here to rescue you, Cullen.”

Cullen stared at him for a moment, then lunged at his throat.

“ _Whoa_!” Alistair and Rowena grabbed the knight by the shoulders and pushed him back, throwing him to the ground. Eruestan blinked in shock as Cormac stepped in front of him, growling protectively.

“Be gone, demons!” Cullen yelled, hands clasped over his ears. “I know it’s not him! I’ve always known it’s not him! Leave me alone!”

“What’s going on?” Eruestan asked in shock, looking back at the others. “What’s he talking about?”

“He thinks you’re an illusion,” Wynne murmured. “The demons must have been tormenting him with your image – I can’t imagine what he’s been through…”

“But why my image?” Eruestan asked in bewilderment. “What do I have to do with anything?”

Wynne smiled at him sadly. “Haven’t you got any idea?”

“No, I don’t,” Eruestan said, frowning.

Leliana tutted. “Oh, Eruestan,” she said, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “Can’t you see?”

Cullen, however, had started clutching at his head. “Why aren’t you going away?” he moaned, swaying back and forth. “That’s always made you go away before…”

“I’m not a demon, Cullen,” Eruestan said, peering at him from around Cormac. “We really are here to rescue you!”

“You always say that, demon!” he cried. “Every time! And then you promise…things… But he would never act like that! He would never say those things! I won’t fall for it! Never again!”

Rowena and Alistair both blushed and looked down in embarrassment. Eruestan was speechless. Cullen was trembling on the ground before him, and suddenly he felt his heart break. He had never had any idea that anyone had ever felt that way about him, let alone a Templar. For a moment, he was almost overcome with pity. He then reached out and grabbed the knight’s hand. Cullen tried to jerk it away, but Eruestan held it firm, feeling him tremble in his grip. “I’m not a demon, Cullen.”

“Don’t play with me!” he shouted, opening his eyes in rage. “I know what you are!”

“It is me,” he said, squeezing Cullen’s hand. “Can’t you tell? Don’t you remember from my Harrowing?”

Cullen froze, his hand growing still in Eruestan’s grasp. “How do you know that?”

“I was there,” Eruestan said mildly. “And then we talked about it afterwards, remember? I was with Niall and you came to take me to see the First Enchanter.”

Cullen was shaking his head, screwing his eyes shut once more. “You never…you’ve never said that before…”

“That’s because those were demons, Cullen,” Wynne said gently, kneeling down next to him. “They don’t have access to those sort of memories outside of the Fade.”

Cullen looked at him in shock. “I…no, you can’t be real…”

“I am, Cullen,” Eruestan said quietly. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this.”

The knight stared at him for a moment longer, and then burst into tears. “There, there, it’s all right,” Wynne said soothingly, patting his shoulder. “It’s all right, just let it out.”

“The things they did,” the knight wept. “The people they killed – they did it for fun! They enjoyed torturing us!”

“We’re going to end it all, Cullen,” Eruestan said. “We’re going to kill the demon doing this.”

Cullen wasn’t listening. “You can’t just kill it!” he said, getting on his knees, “You have to kill all of them! Everyone in that room!”

A scream rippled out from the Harrowing Chamber as Eruestan tried to make sense of what he had said. “What? No!” he said in shock. “Cullen, we can’t do that.”

“ _You have to_!” His scream echoed through the room, making Eruestan jump back in shock. “You have to,” he said, calmer. “You haven’t heard the things I have, seen what I’ve seen! No one could survive that without becoming an abomination, no one! You have to kill them! All of them! Or they’ll kill us all!”

“He’s half out his mind,” Wynne said, her voice racked with pity. “We can’t waste time here – let me take care of him.”

“What’s she doing?” Cullen cried, struggling to get away from her. Wynne held out a hand and murmured something, wrapping Cullen’s head in a faint blue mist. “Keep her…away…from…” Slowly breathing in the mist, he fell asleep under Wynne’s spell.

“This will protect him while he sleeps,” she said, erecting a large magical dome around his sleeping body. “We need to get in there right away.”

“He must have seen terrible things,” Leliana said, shaking her head. “I wonder why they left him out here.”

“Likely to play with and torture,” Sten said. “They could not convert him, so they used him as a toy.”

“Sten!” Alistair hissed, enraged. “Don’t say that in front of Eruestan! That was his boyfriend!”

“What?” Eruestan said. “No, he wasn’t!” He looked down at the knight sleeping at their feet. His face looked peaceful for the first time since he had met him, and Eruestan suddenly realized that Cullen was very handsome. For a moment, he was struck by a sense of what might have been had the world been a little different. Then, he shook his head and turned to the others. “Look, we’re wasting time – we need to get in there now!”

They stood in front of the door to the Harrowing Chamber, each bracing their weapons. The screaming had lapsed for a moment, which somehow made everything even worse. Eruestan steeled himself, drawing on his magic and trying to imagine whatever could be lying in wait for them. Wynne took out the Litany to prepare herself. “We need to figure out how to break these walls down,” she said. “Blasting the door with magic won’t work.”

“Can’t we just open it?” Leliana asked, notching an arrow back. “It might be unlocked.”

“It’s an ancient door protected by powerful magic, Leliana,” Wynne said, shaking her head. “I strongly doubt they will just—”

Sten stepped forward and kicked at the door, bursting it open. A flood of cold air rushed out into the hallway as the screaming flared up again, ringing in their ears.

“Ah,” Wynne said, blinking. “Never mind!”

Rowena brandished her sword. “ _Now_!”

The group charged in. The Harrowing Chamber was filled with flashes of sinister light, shining brightly against the darkening sky through the shattered windows. By now the screaming had turned to a horrible gargling, a type of agonized struggling that sent chills down Eruestan’s spine. The room was full of abominations, all converging around a mage who was writhing horrifically on the ground. Above her stood a balding mage wearing the robes of a Senior Enchanter. Uldred was casting some sort of terrible spell, tearing the Veil around the mage and warping her body. A group of about thirty mages was huddled in the back corner of the chamber, kept in place by a type of magical shield he had never seen before. Eruestan recognized Leorah, Torrin, and to his immense relief Irving. However, the mages looked greatly weakened, barely able to keep themselves upright. They were all watching the process in the middle of the room with resigned horror, bile and gore smattered over most of their faces.

Slamming her staff on the ground, Wynne started to read from the Litany. However, before she could get the first word out, the mage on the ground jerked back her head and screeched in agony. Her back arched so violently Eruestan was sure she had broken it. Her fingernails morphed into blackened talons that began to claw at her face as her skin bubbled and grew raw. She was growing rapidly, soon twice her height, and hers bones snapped and cracked as she twitched and writhed, gross deformities growing out of her shoulders and sides. With a final convulsion she collapsed to the floor, now an abomination.

The room fell silent once more. “Friends,” Uldred said, turning towards the door. “We have visitors.”

The doors to the chamber slammed shut behind them. Every deformed eye in the room was now on them. Trying to keep his heart from pounding, Eruestan gulped and hoped he looked intimidating.

“Uldred,” Wynne said, voice trembling with rage, “you bastard. How could you have done this to the Circle?”

Uldred laughed, a high, brittle sound that echoed off the chamber’s walls. There was something twisted about the mage’s voice, a nasty trill that made Eruestan’s skin crawl. “I believe the better question, Wynne, is how could the Circle have done this to me? How could it have done this to all of us? Look at the power I have!” He flicked his wrist, and an entire section of abominations flew into the air, crashing into each other in the far end of the room. He turned back to them triumphantly, his eyes completely black. “The Chantry could never give me magic like this.”

“And look at what your power cost us!” Wynne shouted. “Your soul sold to a Pride demon! Half the Tower slaughtered under your orders!”

“What are a few apprentices worth in the end?” he asked, laughing cruelly. “Their sacrifices have built an army that will help us fight the darkspawn and free us from the Chantry!” His eyes flicked over the party, slowly grinning to himself. “Look at all these warriors you’ve brought me,” he said. “You even found Irving’s little pet!” He turned to Eruestan and held out a hand. “Tell me, boy, are you ready to join your mentor in my army of free mages?”

“Never,” Eruestan snarled, overcome with rage at everything Uldred had done. “You’ll never get me.”

“Yeah, you’ll never get any of us!” Alistair shouted. “ _And_ your mole is still ugly!”

Uldred’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps our new friends aren’t as welcome as I thought they’d be,” he growled. “You’ll regret your words, little boys.”

Wynne pulled out the Litany. “We’ll see about that, Uldred,” she said. “ _Malefi—_ ”

The room went black and Eruestan was swept off his feet. Slamming into the ground, he tried to pulled himself to his feet. However, somehow he had lost control of his arms and legs. His whole body was paralyzed, keeping him frozen on the ground. No matter how hard he strained, he could not even move. Light flooded the room again, and everyone else around him was sprawled on the floor. Wynne had collapsed a few feet away from him, the Litany fallen to the ground at her side.

“Ah, the Litany of Adralla,” Uldred said, walking over. Gripped with terror, Eruestan threw his entire body into breaking free from the spell, all to no avail. “That’s almost charming, Wynne.” He summoned a ball of flames in his hand and, to Eruestan’s horror, threw it down at the parchment. However, there was a keening sound and the fire was extinguished. Uldred frowned and bent down to peer at the scroll. “I see,” he said. “No matter – no one will survive to use it, anyway.” He turned back to the abominations. “Bring me the next recruit!”

Eruestan couldn’t see the other mages, but as the next victim began screaming tears began to well in his eyes. The same fate was now waiting for him and the rest of his companions. He had failed the Circle, he had failed Ferelden, and he had failed the world. He stared at the others, trying to apologize with a look. From the look on her face, Rowena was struggling vainly to break free. Leliana’s eyes were closed, and she seemed to be praying. Sten was glaring at the ceiling in rage…and Alistair’s right hand was creeping towards the Litany.

Eruestan’s heart stopped. The scroll was a few inches from the knight’s hand, just barely out of reach. Alistair had broken out in sweat, and his face was scrunched up in pain. Resisting the spell must have been excruciating – still, the knight kept reaching for the Litany, biting his lip to keep from crying out. There was a flash of light from the center of the room, and Alistair froze and looked up. Uldred’s back was turned, focusing on his spell. Alistair continued reaching for the paper, mouth open in a silent scream. His sword was scraping slightly across the stone from the effort, but the growing screams blocked out the sound. With a final burst of energy, Alistair grabbed the parchment with the tips of his fingers. Eruestan thought his heart was going to burst. He glanced at Rowena and saw that she, too, was fixated on Alistair’s progress, her face white. Tears streaming in his eyes, Alistair dragged it back slowly, his arms shaking wildly. Eruestan looked back at Uldred, his heart in his throat. He had finished with the newest abomination, he was going to turn around…

Alistair brought the scroll to his face. “ _Maleficarus sanguinis_!” he bellowed, sweat pouring down his face. The effect was instantaneous. The spell holding Eruestan down melted away. He immediately jumped to his feet and shouted, “ _Scutum_!” A magical shield blossomed between the party and Uldred. Morrigan and Wynne clambered up beside him and joined in.

“Hold your ground and focus your magic!” Wynne shouted to both of them, holding out her hands. “Keep reading, Alistair!”

Alistair continued reading, and all the abominations in the room froze. Uldred, however, turned around in fury and threw a wave of force at the magical shield. The mages gasped in pain from the shock, but the magical shield held.

“ _Valeo, daemon, valeo_!” Alistair finished, looking up. The nearest abominations shrieked in pain and burst, splattering the shield with gore. The others shook their heads as if confused, clawing at their faces. Uldred howled and threw another ball of energy at the barrier. Eruestan groaned in pain and felt his knees buckle. It was as if Uldred had punched him in the stomach. The barrier still held.

“Why isn’t it working?” Rowena cried from behind him. “He read it!”

“Alistair,” Wynne wheezed as Uldred attacked again, her arms starting to tremble. “Bring it here! Let us read from it, too!”

The knight brought the parchment over to them, clutching his sword in his other had. Ignoring his sudden urge to vomit, Eruestan began to read from it as well. As the three chanted the Litany, more and more abominations exploded throughout the room, raining blood over each other. Uldred was tearing at himself in rage, throwing magic at the shield. Eruestan had a nosebleed from the strain, but he kept pouring energy into the shield. “Read it again!” he slurred to the others. “We need more people to read it!”

To his surprise, Sten leaned over Alistair’s shoulder and began chanting as well. After the fourth repetition, Leliana joined in, closing her eyes to better remember the words. Rowena and Morrigan tried to chant, too, emphasizing the phrases they were able to identify. Now all the abominations had been killed; only Uldred was left. “You cannot defeat me!” he shrieked. “Not with my power!” Throwing a hand out to one of the shattered windows, he shouted a spell and summoned a massive lightning bolt from the darkening skies, throwing it at the barrier. Eruestan, Wynne, and Morrigan screamed in pain. Fire was coursing through his body, setting every inch of his skin aflame. Still, they all held, tears and sweat falling freely from their faces.

Chanting was now filling the room – the other mages had joined in, rising to their feet from behind their magical cage. Uldred was now twitching, his power diminishing. The lightning faded and flickered out, licking the walls of the chamber as it disappeared. Enraged, Uldred threw another ball of force at the barrier, desperate to bring it down. Yet the Litany surrounded him, tugging at the deep roots his blood magic had taken inside him. He began to convulse violently, clawing at his face with his fingers. With a terrible, excruciating scream, a giant horned demon burst from his head in a spray of blood and bone. It loomed in the room for a moment, roaring in anger, then lunged for the barrier. For Eruestan, it was as if the sky itself had fallen in on him. To his side, Morrigan and Wynne feel to their knees. The barrier began to flicker dangerously. The demon was snapping its jaws at his face, he couldn’t hold it any longer…

Then the demon howled and disappeared in a flash of light that rammed into the barrier. Eruestan gasped and let go, slipping into darkness from the shock.

Someone was shaking him awake. He had a terrible headache, like someone was splitting his head in half. Bizarrely, the sound of waves was roaring in his ears. He opened his eyes and blinked. Irving and Wynne were peering down at him anxiously.

“He’s awake,” Wynne said, smiling. There were general sighs of relief. He was lying on the grass outside the Tower, a compress on his forehead. Sitting up, he saw that Greagoir was standing a few feet away with the rest of the Templars, his arms crossed.

“What happened?” Eruestan asked slowly, pressing a hand to his head. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two hours,” Wynne said, reaching back to hand him a small cup filled with a  gently glowing blue potion. “Here, drink this – it’s lyrium, it’ll help you get back on your feet.”

He took the cup warily. Apprentices were not allowed to try lyrium, and if you weren’t careful you could easily get addicted to it. Still, at Wynne’s instigation he downed the cup. It burned like acid in his mouth, and for a moment all he could do was cough. However, his headache immediately diminished, and he could feel his energy rushing back. “Strong stuff,” he said, making a face.

“You deserve it,” Irving said, beaming. “Where you found the strength to keep that shield standing, I’ll never know.”

Eruestan smiled weakly, not sure how to address the First Enchanter after everything that had happened. “Where are the others?” he asked. “Is everyone all right?”

 “They and the Templars are searching the Tower for survivors and straggling abominations,” Irving said. He looked affectionately at Eruestan. “Thanks to you, though, that job will be relatively easy.”

Eruestan blushed, looking down at his hands. “It was a group effort.”

“Yes, yes, it was all very heroic,” Greagoir said, walking forward. “But we still haven’t discussed our plan of action regarding the Tower’s security.”

“We are already patrolling the Tower, Greagoir,” Irving said, raising an eyebrow. “There isn’t much more to do beyond tending to the wounded.”

“You know as well as I do, Irving, that that isn’t true,” Greagoir said grimly. “The level of contamination in this tower was so great that we need to reconsider our policy towards the survivors.”

“What do you mean, ‘reconsider’?” Wynne asked, frowning. “What is there to reconsider? They survived and now they’re safe. There isn’t more to discuss.”

“Enchanter, any of these mages could be host to a malevolent spirit,” Greagoir shot back. “Forgive me, but even you are at risk. We cannot take any chances.”

“You see?” someone shouted from the doors. Eruestan looked over to see Alistair and Rowena walk out of the Tower, carrying Cullen on their shoulders. “I told you the Knight-Commander would agree with me!” the knight said, still in his nightshirt.

“Silence, _bas_ ,” Sten grumbled, walking out behind them with Leliana. “You’ve been talking non-stop down the past five flights of stairs.”

“Ser Cullen!” Greagoir said. “Thank the Maker, we thought—”

“Forgive me, ser,” Cullen interrupted, his eyes frantic, “but we need to act right now. I agree, these mages need to be exterminated!”

“I didn’t realize I had said that,” Greagoir replied, frowning.

“Ser, you didn’t see what I saw – you didn’t hear what I heard!” Cullen was talking very fast, spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth. “I swear to you, ser, no one, not even the First Enchanter, could have come out of the Tower unpossessed!”

“Am I possessed?” Irving asked drily. “Amazing the things you miss during a demon attack.”

Cullen ignored him. “With all due respect, ser, you _must_ stop this before it gets too late, the mages _have_ to be put down!”

“That’s not happening,” Eruestan said, rising to his feet. His head was still throbbing gently, but he tried to look at Cullen with compassion. The knight, however, refused to look back at him. “The mages are our recruits for the Blight.”

“That is not your decision to make, boy,” Greagoir said, turning to him angrily. “Let me handle my business.”

Rowena started. “Don’t talk to him like—”

“I’ll handle this, Rowena,” Eruestan said, holding up his hand. She glanced at him warily and fell silent. “I’m not a Circle mage anymore, Knight-Commander,” he said calmly, staring Greagoir in the eyes. “I’m one of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden during a Blight. After the defeat at Ostagar, my Order has a right to all resources that can end this threat, including those of the Chantry. I hereby invoke our treaty by demanding the aide of all capable mages and,” he continued, an idea popping into his head, “that of the Templars as well.”

Greagoir stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes,” Eruestan replied, crossing his arms. “First off, you have no choice. Second, you have no choice. Third, the darkspawn have powerful emissaries that can do a lot of magical damage, so we need as many men as possible who can resist them. Finally, you have no choice.”

Alistair and Leliana’s jaws had dropped open in horror. Rowena, however, was grinning gleefully. “Someone should tell you to work on your negotiation skills,” the Knight-Commander snapped.

“I’m not negotiating,” Eruestan said. “The Templars will play their part in this Blight just like everyone else. You will lead them against the darkspawn.”

Greagoir’s face was black. “Very well,” he spat darkly, turning his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find out how many of my men were killed in this attack – unless of course you want us to march to battle now?”

“Prepare yourselves for battle,” Eruestan replied, looking at him squarely. “We will expect you on the field when we call.”

“Wait,” Cullen said, horror spreading across his face. “You’re…you’re not going to do anything? Ser! The mages!”

“Let the Warden deal with your babbling, Ser Cullen, he’s in charge now,” Greagoir snarled. “Now get out of my way!”

“Eruestan,” Cullen pleaded, turning around. His eyes were almost tender, as if pleading for so much more than he was saying.  “Eruestan, you have to—”

Eruestan’s cheeks flushed. What would have happened without Jowan, without the Blight, without all this mess? “You heard what I told Irving, Cullen,” he said quietly. “I stand by what I said.”

The Templar stared at him, his gaze growing cold. Any glimpse of tenderness Eruestan had thought he saw disappeared. “You’ll pay for that,” he hissed. “All of you will pay!”

“Well, good to see he’s responding to all this healthily,” Irving said as Cullen stormed off. “Eruestan, that was the sternest brow-beating I’ve ever seen Greagoir receive – I wonder if we shouldn’t start calling you the First Enchanter instead.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ser,” Eruestan said, watching Cullen leave with a heavy heart. He shook his head and turned back to the First Enchanter. “First things first, though. We have a situation that needs your help – the arl of Redcliffe’s son has been possessed by a demon, and we need the Circle to try and save him.”

“Maker, is everyone getting possessed these days?” Irving muttered. “When I was young, all we ever did was set the Templars’ breeches on fire.”

“Which, if I remember correctly, was equally as destructive,” Wynne said, grinning. “Especially for poor Ser Gillian.”

He shrugged. “She got better. Regardless, I’d be happy to send help along to Redcliffe.”

“I will lead the delegation, Irving,” Wynne said firmly. “But then I must ask your permission to leave the Circle.”

The First Enchanter frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Wardens are fighting an impossible battle against an enemy ten times as dangerous as the ones we faced here,” she said, straightening her back. “If I can help them, I will – provided they will take me.”

Eruestan glanced at the rest of the group. There were enthusiastic nods all around, except from Sten, who said nothing. Morrigan was still nowhere to be found. “We’d be honored, Wynne.”

“Wynne, the Circle needs you now,” Irving said, furrowing his brows. “We have to rebuild.”

“Which you can do without me,” she said. “The Blight is the bigger concern. It won’t matter how strong the Circle is if the horde reaches the Tower.”

“Very well,” Irving said, still frowning. “I’ll arrange for our best remaining healers to accompany you to Redcliffe. I should check on the other mages – thank you for everything you’ve done, Wardens.”

He turned to leave; Eruestan leapt to his feet, his throat suddenly tight. “Ser, wait!” he said, running away from the others. Irving looked at him expectantly, smiling gently. “I just wanted to say…that I’m sorry,” Eruestan said, dropping his eyes. “For everything with…with Jowan. I’m so sorry.”

Irving chuckled and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, my boy, no one will remember that,” he said warmly. “Well, no one except Greagoir, but the man’s an angry person in general.”

Eruestan frowned and looked up at him. “But ser, I betrayed the Tower! I helped—”

“And none of that is important now.” The First Enchanter squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve done the Circle proud, my boy,” he said, eyes shining. “We all owe you all our lives.”

His knees went weak. “Thank you, ser,” he said, overcome with emotion. “I can’t tell you how much it means to hear that.”

As Irving left, Wynne looked at the rest of the group and smiled. “I have a good feeling about this,” she said happily. “I look forward to getting to know all of you.”

“You only say that because Morrigan isn’t here,” Alistair said. “Where is she, even?”

“I am right here, Alistair,” Morrigan said, walking out of the Tower. “What are you mewling about this time?”

“Does anyone have that litany?” Alistair called out, looking around. “I think we found another demon!”

“Oh, dear,” Wynne said amusedly as the two began to bicker with each other. “I have a feeling this dynamic is going to get a bit trying after a while.”

“You’d be surprised – sometimes it’s nice to have a bit of background noise,” Eruestan said. “Thank you for volunteering to come with us, Wynne. It really is a honor to have you at our side – especially having such a powerful healer. Neither Morrigan or I know much about healing magic, to be honest.”

“Thank you for having me,” she said simply. “You know, I could teach you both what I know, if you like. I’ve seen both of you cast, and I can tell you’d both be excellent students – provided you want to, of course.”

“You might have a bit of a hard time convincing Morrigan,” Eruestan said, looking back at the witch. “But I would love to!”

“It’s a deal, then,” Wynne said. Her eyes gleamed for a moment. “Oh, excellent,” she said wickedly. “Irving and I have had a competition running since we both became enchanters – he’ll be furious once he hears I’m stealing you. In fact, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go tell him now. I need a little pick-me-up after a day like today.”

He laughed and bowed his head as she left. Suddenly on his own, he looked out over the lake in the night air. The moon had risen over the water, and in the silence of the night the horrors of the Tower already seemed like a distant memory.

“Hey.” He turned over and saw Rowena come up to him with Cormac at her side, a gentle look in her eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know what it’s like to see something horrible happen to your home.”

Eruestan hesitated. “So many awful things have happened around us lately,” he said, looking back out onto the lake. “I don’t know if what happened here is worse than at Ostagar, or in Redcliffe, or in Highever. It’s just…” He sighed and looked back at her. “So much is depending on us, Rowena. The whole country is counting on us to survive.”

“And we’ll help them,” she said. Cormac barked happily; Eruestan smiled and bent down to scratch his head. “We’ve already been through too much not to.”

 “Let’s hope the Archdemon feels that way, too,” he said. “One ally down, though.”

“Three more to go,” Rowena said. She grasped his hand and squeezed. “I think we can do this, Eruestan.”

He smiled at her. “You know what? I think we can, too.”


	24. On the Edge of Desire

Loghain stared out at the city from his window.

It was very late at night. A quiet moon hung over Denerim, its pale light bathing the steeples and rooftops of the city. From his tower room in the palace, the capital almost looked peaceful. Loghain knew, however, that the calm was just an illusion. Tension hovered over Denerim like a cloud, seeping into every corner of the city like the Blight itself.

He turned around and walked over to the desk in his bedchamber. Light shone from his fireplace on a pile of neatly-stacked papers, all carrying grim reports from across the Bannorn. Ferelden was in terrible danger, that much was certain. News was already pouring in that the darkspawn were moving slowly towards the south, razing villages to the ground and slaying thousands. Refugees were pouring into Denerim faster than he could manage, and the areas around the gates had turned into shantytowns overnight. With the first frosts coming and food shortages looming in the distance, both crime and fear were running rampart. For the first time in a long time, Loghain felt a bit out of his depth. He was a master strategist and a brilliant general, but city planning and administration had never been his strong suit. That was what Anora took care of.

Loghain poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk and drank it in a gulp. His daughter had been refusing to speak with him for days, giving him occasional updates on the city through her ladies. Part of him felt a bit wounded; on the whole, however, he was relieved. The look in her eyes when she had accused him still cut him to the bone. He should have known that she would figure out what he had done. But what could he say to her? That her beloved husband was planning on leaving her for an Orlesian whore? That Cailan’s death had been the price for a free Ferelden? They were things she would never understand, things that he would have to keep to himself. He was doing this for her, after all, even if it meant he lost her trust and her love.

There was a gentle rap at his door. Arl Howe stepped into his chamber, bowing deeply at the doorway. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing, “forgive the late hour.”

Loghain grunted. Anora may have made herself scarce, but Howe seemed to be dogging him around every corner. “What is it, Howe?” he asked.

The arl bowed again and motioned to someone in the shadows. “I believe I’ve found the solution to our Warden situation.” A young elf with long blond hair stepped forward, bowing deeply.

Loghain frowned. He had almost forgotten about the Wardens. The thought needled him at the back of his mind, an annoying obstacle that needed to be dealt with. “I don’t see how a rent boy is going to take these Wardens out.”

The elf laughed, a deep, velvety chuckle that melted into the walls. “I am no whore, Your Grace, only the son of one,” he purred in a thick accent. “The Antivan Crows send you their regard.”

Loghain stared at him silently for a moment. This was how low he had stooped. Without changing his expression, he pulled out his chair and sat at his desk, crossing his arms. “You don’t see many Crows in Ferelden,” he commented, his voice cool.

“A sign of work well done,” the assassin replied. There was something about his eyes Loghain didn’t like, as if the elf was laughing at him. “Not many have seen us and lived to tell the tale.”

“I hope your confidence lives up to your abilities,” Loghain said coldly. “Your targets won’t be easy ones.”

“Others have said the same,” the assassin said. “I promise you, I will not disappoint.”

“He’s been briefed on the particulars, my lord,” Howe said. “All we need to do now is find the Wardens.”

“A service I can provide,” the assassin said. “Once furnished with a small sum, of course.”

Loghain grunted. “I don’t normally pay for services before they’re done.”

“And I do not normally work for free,” the assassin said, his eyes glinting in the firelight.  “I’m afraid the advance is non-negotiable. All the same, you have my guild’s reputation as your guarantee.”

Loghain sighed and waved him off like a fly. “Very well. Anything to rid me of these Wardens. Howe, pay him what he’s owed.” The arl bowed and led the assassin out of the room. The teyrn stood up and returned to his brooding at the window. All this would be resolved soon enough. He would save Ferelden; all he needed was to be patient.

* * *

 It was almost twilight by the time the boats rolled into the harbor at Redcliffe. A group of five mages had come back with them from the Circle, kept well away from Captain Alla and her sailors by the rest of the party. Rowena woke up to the shouts of the people on the docks who had started throwing ropes out to the boats to drag them to shore. She had fallen asleep stretched out on one of the boat’s benches, her face slightly sunburned despite the ointment Wynne had given them all to protect their skin. Now, sitting up and looking at the darkened castle standing out against the beautifully streaked sky, all the horrors of the past few days seemed to slip away.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she asked the others, resting a hand on Cormac’s collar. “Everything that’s happened, and it still can look peaceful like this.”

“Logical,” Sten said coldly. “There are less people, so there is less noise.”

Rowena looked over at him and sighed. “Thanks for the reality check, Sten. Yet again.”

“Are we there yet?” Leliana moaned softly from the bottom of the boat, her face pressed against the wood. “I don’t know if I can hold it in anymore.”

Wynne tutted and dipped a rag in the lake water, wiping Leliana’s face with the cool fabric. “There, there, just a little longer,” she said. She turned back to Eruestan as she wrung the rag back into the lake. “As I was saying, nausea is one of the conditions we can’t heal with a spell. There’s a potion we can make to cure it – I can show you how to make it later, if you like.”

Leliana retched and started shivering beneath them. “I am _so mad_ I didn’t know about this before.”

Rowena smiled at her sympathetically and looked over at Alistair. His fingers trailing in the lake water, the knight was staring up at the castle with a worried look on his face. “You all right?” she murmured, nudging him in the ribs. “You don’t need to worry, we have the mages on our side now!”

He looked over at her and flashed a smile. “Right, right,” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m being dumb – I just hope nothing’s happened while we were gone.”

“It’ll be fine!” she said warmly, grabbing his arm. His biceps rippled under her grip, and suddenly she flushed. Letting go with a cough, she smiled at him and looked away. “We’ve already killed a whole tower of demons, haven’t we?” she pointed out. “How much can one more do to us?”

“We should still be a little cautious,” Wynne said, looking up at the castle. “Every demon is different, and this one seems to be particularly powerful. Still, Rowena’s right, Alistair, there’s no need to be worried. We should have enough resources to handle this tonight.”

“Wonderful,” Morrigan said. “Now Alistair can devote that brainpower to other, more important things – like trying to remember his name.”

The knight shot her a withering look. “Don’t worry, Morrigan, I know my name is ‘Sniveling Cretin’.”

“Everyone, Alistair has finally become self-aware! ‘Tis a miracle!”

Rowena rolled her eyes as the boat bumped into the docks, a team of workers reaching out to help them to land. She waited for Leliana to be handed out like a child before she stood up herself, her legs readjusting to the dry ground. To tell the truth, she really didn’t feel too nervous about the fight to come. While they had left the Litany of Adralla behind at the Tower, according to Wynne they wouldn’t have needed it in the first place. Using it might have saved Connor, but it would have killed him in the process as well. Now, the plan was to send one of the mages into the Fade to defeat the demon there. If anything, she was disappointed she wasn’t going to get in on the action. She had gotten pretty good at killing demons, after all. 

Wynne stepped out behind her and look around in shock at the destroyed houses lining the lake. “One child did all this?” she asked in wonder. “Where on earth did he get that much power?”

“This is why mages should be kept under close watch,” Sten grumbled as he left the boat. “They were fools, thinking they could use a tutor for the boy.”

Wynne frowned. “A tutor? What are you talking about?”

Rowena and Eruestan looked over at each other sharply, each realizing at the same time that they had forgotten to divulge some very important information. “Um, Wynne?” Eruestan said. “There’s something you should know…”

There was a burst of activity at the end of the docks. Murdock and a group of villagers were approaching them, carrying torches against the growing darkness. “Wardens, there you are,” he growled. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been waitin’ all day for you!”

“We ran into some trouble at the Circle,” Rowena said. “What’s the situation at the castle? Have there been any more attacks?”

Murdock shook his head. “There’s been nothing since you left. That blood mage has kept the boy locked in his room for the whole time, but he’s still a bloody demon, Maker knows.”

Wynne turned to Eruestan and Rowena in shock. “Blood mage?” she said, eyebrows raised. “What does he mean, blood mage?”

“Well, that’s what I was trying to say,” Eruestan said, flushing. “It slipped our minds a little, what with everything going on and all…”

“Eruestan Surana,” Wynne said, crossing her arms. Her tone reminded Rowena of her tutor during her hardest lessons. “Tell me exactly what’s going on here. Now.”

“This wasn’t actually his fault,” he said quickly. “Jowan’s not strong enough to do this.”

Wynne drew in her breath sharply. “ _Jowan_ is behind this?”

“No!” Eruestan said. “Well, yes, definitely yes – but also no. Everything I’ve said about Connor is true – but the arlessa hired Jowan to train Connor to hide his magic. We left him behind to keep Connor and the demon locked in the castle.”

Wynne was rubbing her temples. “I _really_ should have known about this before now.”

Rowena winced. “That’s our fault,” she said. “We weren’t thinking.”

“Well, there’s no changing any of that now,” the enchanter sighed. “Right, well, wonderful. Now we have to fight a demon _and_ a maleficar. Maker’s breath, I should have grabbed the Litany while I had the chance…”

“You might not even have to fight him,” Murdock offered. “He’s not that bad a bloke, really. Been makin’ us tea and everythin’.”

Wynne stared at him. “Maleficar can still make tea—oh, never mind. Just take us to the castle.”

They began to make their way through the darkening village. The attacks having ended, life seemed to be slowly returning to normal in Redcliffe. Lights were glowing in most of the houses, and the streets seemed to have been cleared of debris and destruction. Children were laughing, chasing after each other in the village streets, and Rowena felt her heart flush with warmth. It was amazing to think that they were the reason the people of Redcliffe had survived. As they started climbing the hill to the castle, she looked back on the lit windows down in the village and started smiling to herself. It felt good to be a hero.

Bann Teagan was waiting for them at the castle gates. “Wardens,” he said, bowing, “I’m glad you’re well. I hope the journey to the Circle wasn’t too taxing?”

“We’ll explain later,” Rowena said. “How’s Connor?”

“Jowan has sealed him in his room,” the bann replied. “Hm…I hope we don’t need to interrupt his macramé lessons, the guards seem to really like them…”

Wynne stared at him. “Macramé?”

“He’s very good at making hats,” Eruestan said quietly.

Wynne shook her head. “This is by far the worst blood mage I’ve ever heard of.”

The bann led them into the castle. Rowena was pleased to see that most signs of struggle were gone: there were no longer any corpses littering the floors and most of the bloodstains had been scrubbed clean. Only the occasional broken door or scratch marks revealed any sign of a fight at all. Villagers had filled the roles of the servants, and they all fell to their knees before them, murmuring words of praise.

Teagan led them up a small flight of stairs. Soon, Rowena could hear the sounds of someone giving a short lesson. “Not too tight, Gerrard,” Jowan said, looking at a guardsman’s yarn work. “You’re going to shrivel the rest of your scarf.”

“Bah!” Isolde scoffed. “It is not tight enough! It will all fall apart!”

“Lady Isolde, for the fifth time, my grandmother learned this technique from the Marquise de Chevin herself,” Jowan said. “She was her lady’s maid – I know what I’m doing!”

“Well, I learned to macramé from my own grandmother, the Duchesse de Val Colline!” she snapped. “Do not pretend to know more than me!”

“I’m not pretending to—oh, no, Gerrard, don’t cry, it’s all right, this isn’t about you,” he said hurriedly as the guard began to sniffle into his yarn. “Maker’s sake, Your Ladyship, just let me macramé!”

“Erm…excuse me,” Bann Teagan said, clearing his throat. “Isolde, the Wardens have returned.”

Everyone turned around. “Thank the Maker!” the arlessa cried, standing up. “Wardens, do you know anything about the art of macramé?”

Rowena frowned. “Uh, no, I can’t say that I do.”

“I can knit,” Alistair offered.

“And I can embroider!” Leliana threw in.

Isolde shook her head. “Bah, that is useless to me, it must be macra—”

“What is the matter with you people?” Wynne said in horror. “Is there a possessed child here or not?”

The room stared at her for a second. “Oh! Right,” Isolde said, rising to her feet. “Forgive me…this has been an odd week...”

Rowena noticed that Eruestan had grown a little tense. “Jowan,” he said, glaring at the mage, “this is Wynne, one of the Senior Enchanters at the tower.”

“A—a pleasure, Wynne,” Jowan said, bowing.

She nodded coldly. “Where is the boy being held?”

Jowan flushed and led them down the hall. “I used blood magic to seal him in,” he said. Both Eruestan and Wynne flinched slightly at the word. “I think Connor’s being held by a Desire demon—it’s been nourishing him with energy from the Fade.”

Rowena thought of what had happened to Niall. “Wait, will he need the demon to keep him alive? Someone we knew at the Tower was taken over by a demon in the same way, and once we killed it he died.”

Wynne shook her head. “Only Sloth demons drain life force from their victims,” she said. “The rest try to keep them around for as long as possible – Connor will be fine.”

“Sloth demons at the Circle?” Jowan asked, frowning. “What happened?”

“That is none of your concern,” Wynne said coldly. She stepped forward and peered at the markings on the door. “I must say, this is a remarkable cage,” she said. “A pity it had to be constructed with blood magic.”

“Will you be able to get beyond it?” the arlessa asked.

“The cage won’t be a problem,” Wynne said. “All we need is a volunteer to slip into the Fade and free him. I would be more than willing to do so, if you wish.”

“No, Wynne, you should stay here and make sure the ceremony is done properly,” Eruestan said. He paused for a moment, and then nodded. “I should do it.”

“Then there’s no time to waste,” Wynne said. “All the non-mages need to leave the room now – everyone else, form a circle around Eruestan.”

As she left the room, Rowena glanced over her shoulder to catch Eruestan’s eye. He smiled gently and she nodded reassuringly back, convinced that he would be fine. Then the door closed and the chanting began.

* * *

  _He was in the Fade before he realized it. One minute the chanting had filled the room and the next it was gone, replaced by an oppressive silence. It had been morphed around him to look like the castle, but the building was empty, a strange ringing echoing off the walls. Connor’s door glowed enticingly in front of him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and the tips of his ears began to tingle. There was great power nearby._

_Someone was yelling in the hallway. He looked up to see an older man in fine clothing running towards him. “Who’s there?” he yelled, looking around frantically. “Connor! Where are you?”_

_“Are you Arl Eamon?” he asked. The arl paid him no attention._

_“Connor!” Eamon yelled. “Connor, can you hear me?” He disappeared down a hallway, his cries swallowed by the silence._

_Connor’s door swung open before him. Someone was crying and the sound was filling the hallway. He stepped through, ears almost burning now. Connor was huddled in one corner._

_“W-who are you?” he asked, face white. “I…I n-need to find my parents, please go.”_

_“I’m here to help, Connor,” he said, walking towards him. The child flinched._

_“Don’t come any closer!” the boy yelled. “You’ll just make it mad!”_

_It was too late. The door slammed shut. Connor yelled again and hid behind his bed. A shiver of power went down his spine. He turned around slowly and saw a horned, purple demon standing in front of him, much like the one at the Circle._

_“No tricks this time,” it said. “I won’t insult you like that. My sister should have been more…courteous…”_

_“Very kind of you,” he replied. “I’ll try to be more polite when I kill you, too.”_

_“Always so violent,” it said, shaking its head. “How unnecessary. All I want to do is talk.”_

_He shook his head. “I don’t talk to demons.”_

_“And think of everything you’re missing because of it,” it said. “There are benefits to being my friend. Look what it gave Jowan – the ability to fight Templars and seal me in my own prison.”_

_“I’m not interested in blood magic.”_

_“But think how useful it could be,” it purred. “The darkspawn have blood, as all mortal things do – use it against them, make them fall upon each other like the beasts they are. You could end the Blight!”_

_He hesitated, a moment too long. It laughed and walked toward him._

_“Give me the boy,” it hissed, “and I’ll give you all the power in the world.”_

_For a second his throat swelled. Then he swallowed and said, “No.”_

_“Stubborn brat!” it shrieked. Suddenly there were seven of them. The furniture was flying through the air; Connor screamed and cowered back in his corner. Jumping away from the demons, he blasted a chair to bits with magic and sent the shards of wood flying out in front of him. The wood impaled two demons, making them instantly vanish in a flash of light. There was a large scraping behind him. He spun out of the way as the giant dresser hurtled past, slamming into the demons instead. Only two remained. one clawed at his face, drawing blood. He sent a bolt of lightning roaring at it, dissipating its energies into the void._

_He looked up and Cullen was standing before him, naked._

_“Hello, Eruestan” he said, reaching out a hand._

_The room had become a little warm. Still, he shook his head and said, “I thought you promised me no tricks.”_

_Cullen snarled and lunged for him. Without hesitating, he shot an ice spike flying through his chest. Cullen screamed and transformed back into the demon, collapsing dead to the floor._

_Eruestan panted, trying to regain his calm. To his side, someone was moving. “Is it gone?” Connor asked, taking his hand._

_He smiled. “Yes, Connor, yes it is.”_

* * *

 “You know, this really isn’t bad macramé,” Rowena said the next morning, tying a yarn collar around Cormac’s neck. “Too bad he got involved in blood magic and not tailoring.”

“He used to say that it relaxed him,” Eruestan said, yawning as he spread some jam on a piece of toast. “Everyone used to tear him to pieces about it.”

They were all sitting in a guest room eating a large breakfast. Tearful with gratitude, the arlessa had given their party the best rooms in the castle the instant Eruestan had returned with her son. The improvement a good night’s sleep and a hot bath had on their nature was remarkable.

“Isolde’s right, though,” Leliana said, draping a scarf over her shoulders. “They’re not tight enough, they’ll be falling apart soon.”

“This is ridiculous,” Sten said, peering at a pair of mittens. “There are holes in this. How is this supposed to keep someone warm?”

“It’s more about the style, Sten.” Alistair was wearing enough to resemble a very colorful sheep.

“It still doesn’t seem right to throw Jowan back in the dungeons, though,” Rowena said, adjusting her own wool hat. The mage had been carted back down to his cell the night before on Isolde and Teagan’s orders. “All he did was help us.”

“He’s a maleficar, Rowena,” Eruestan said. “We can’t afford to let him roam free.”

“Yes, lest he go and protect other innocent children from demons,” Morrigan said from her window seat. “Or worse, he may cover the country in orange yarn.”

“A greater threat than the Blight, in my opinion,” Sten muttered.

Eruestan sighed. “Regardless, I agree with Bann Teagan. Once Arl Eamon is healed, we can let him decide what to do about Jowan.”

There was a knock at the door. Wynne walked in, looking weary. “How’s the arl?” Rowena asked, frowning.

She shook her head. “Not well. Nothing we tried has had an effect.”

“What does that mean?” Alistair asked, taking off his hat.

She shrugged and sat down. “Frankly, I don’t know if there’s anything more we can do.”

“That is not true,” Isolde said, walking in with Bann Teagan. “I have provided a perfectly viable alternative.”

“With all due respect, Your Ladyship, searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes is certainly not a viable alternative,” Wynne said, frowning. “The Urn has been missing for 900 years – it might as well not exist.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Isolde said, pouring herself some tea. “Brother Genitivi was quite confident that he had found a promising lead – all he needed was the chance to find it.”

“ _The_ Brother Genetivi?” Wynne and Eruestan said at the same time.

The arlessa looked up in surprise. “You know him?”

“Of course,” Wynne said, frowning. “He’s my friend – he’s visited the Circle many times.”

“I’ve only read his books,” Eruestan said. “But they’re some of my favorites, especially _Travels of a Chantry Scholar_.”

“Then you know that Brother Genitivi is not a man to be taken lightly,” Isolde said. “If he claims to have found the Urn, then he has truly found it.”

“Where is he now, then?” Rowena asked. “Where did he say the Urn was?”

Isolde paused, flushing slightly. “I…unfortunately, the good brother has disappeared as of late. I have sent men to the four corners of Ferelden in search of him.”

“So he’s dead,” Sten said flatly.

“I refuse to believe that!” the arlessa snapped. “He has survived much worse, you need only to read his works to see that that is true! If he has found the Urn, he is likely still in pursuit of it. In any case, the Urn is still our best option! Its’ healing powers are legendary – it will cure my husband, of that I am sure.”

“If I can throw a word in,” Teagan said, “I’ve met with this Genitivi, and he did seem extremely convinced that he’d found the location of the Ashes. Whether or not his testimony hold any weight is up to you.”

“Unfortunately, it does,” Wynne said with furrowed eyebrows. “For me, at least. Brother Genitivi is a scholar of the highest order. He may be a member of the Chantry, but he does not let his faith cloud his judgment. If he claims he’s found the Urn, it’s very likely that he has.”

“I agree with Wynne,” Eruestan said, looking at the others. “Genitivi’s very objective, his word can be trusted. The question now, though, is if it’s worth trying to find him.”

“What do you mean?’ the arlessa said, setting down her teacup. “Of course it is! It will save the life of my husband!”

Eruestan and Rowena exchanged a look. “I think what Eruestan’s saying,” Rowena said awkwardly, “is that we need to decide both that the Urn will actually work, even if we manage to find it…”

“…and if it’s worth the effort to save Arl Eamon,” he finished, voice calm, although Rowena was fairly sure his ears were flushing underneath his hat.

“But of course – you must – you have to save Eamon!” the arlessa spluttered. “Teagan, tell them why they must save your brother!”

The bann cleared his throat, glaring at them. “Beyond the obvious favor you’d be doing for our family,” he said, “Eamon’s political clout cannot be ignored. My brother has ruled Redcliffe for more than 30 years. If anyone can unite the Bannorn against Teyrn Loghain, it’s him.”

“You couldn’t?” Eruestan asked.

Teagan hesitated. “My reputation amongst the nobility is a little…tarnished…” he said cautiously. Rowena suddenly remembered a series of rumors involving a sheep and several Nevarran prostitutes. “I would not be quite as effective.”

“Bann Teagan’s right,” Alistair said. “People respect Arl Eamon, they’ll rally to him. I know they will.”

“And as for the Urn, if we can find it, it will heal him,” Leliana said. “The Sacred Ashes of Andraste can perform countless miracles. Whatever poison has gotten to him, they can counter it.”

“Besides, it’s not like we have a whole lot of other options,” Alistair said. “We need the arl to be healed, and Wynne just said she’s exhausted everything she could do.”

“That is true,” Wynne said. “I don’t like the idea of a goose chase, but it might be all we’ve got.”

“‘Tis all some horrible joke, surely,” Morrigan said, standing up. “You cannot seriously be considering scouring the country looking for the lost remains of a crazed woman in the hopes that they will cure one old man!”

“I don’t like this one,” Isolde said.

“I agree with her, though,” Rowena said. Eyebrows shot up around the room. “It’s not that surprising,” she said, frowning. “The Urn may be powerful, but we’ve got no idea where to find it. Hell, we don’t even know where this Genitivi is, let alone whether he’s found the Urn or not.”

“His house is in Denerim,” the arlessa offered. “My men have searched there, of course, but perhaps you will find something there they did not.”

Eruestan looked lost in thought. “Is the arl as important as they’re saying?” he asked Rowena, not looking at anyone else. “What would your family say?”

“The same,” she admitted. “Eamon’s popular, he really would be able to unite the Bannorn. Even my father would have gone to his aide.”

He sighed and pinched his nose. “Say we go to Denerim, take a look around his house. We find something, great, we keep looking for him. We don’t…well, we cut our losses. What do you think?”

She reflected on this for a moment. It was a week out to Denerim and a week back. Not too much time would be lost. What’s more, she could find out where Arl Howe was hiding once they entered the capital. “I can work with that,” she said. “What about the rest of you?”

“Reasonable,” Alistair said.

“I agree,” Wynne said. Leliana nodded beside her.

“You are all giant fools,” Morrigan snapped, sitting back down.

“Undoubtedly,” Sten said. “Though I wonder what idiocy will be waiting for us there.”

“Always inspiring, Sten,” Alistair said.

“All right, then,” Rowena said, turning around. “I guess we’re going to Denerim.”


	25. Song of the Crow

Time spent between killing and sex was time wasted.

Zevran Arainai had not created this rule. Rather, like so many other things in his life, he had merely stumbled upon it. Its truth, however, was undeniable. Pleasure was the only thing worth living for, no matter whether you earned it in the throes of passion or with a twitch of your blade.

Luckily for him, sex and murder happened to be the only two things he was good at. Both were styles of art, and he took pride in being one of Antiva’s finest practitioners in both. Or, at least, he had. For some time, what had been his life’s greatest joys had become necessities, his only way to escape the thoughts that hounded him whenever he closed his eyes. There was no going back to his memories; sex and death were the only ways out.

That had not been a problem in Antiva, the land of easy sighs and endless assassins. Ferelden, however, was proving less palatable. With its flat plains and constant odor of wet dog, the Bannorn was one of the most mind-numbingly dull places he had ever stumbled across. For days, he and his team had been roaming around the same patches of soggy land, heading vaguely towards Redcliffe without any signs of trouble or adventure. If something didn’t happen soon, he ran a high risk of stabbing himself in the head with his own dagger.

“Mira,” he said suddenly, tugging on the reins of his horse. “How many dwarves does it take to clean a chandelier?”

The woman riding to his right rolled her eyes. She was a thin Fereldan woman with stringy hair, fast reflexes, and a slight stench of mildew. He had recruited her at the docks of Denerim and had slept with her on their first night out of the city. “I don’t know, boss. How many?”

“Ten,” Zevran replied. “One to do the job, the other nine to praise the ‘fine dwarven craftsmanship’.”

Orryck snorted. “That one was almost funny, boss.” He was a broad-shouldered warrior from Starkhaven in the Free Marches. Zevran had slept with him on the second night.

“My wit knows no limits, my friend, surely you have realized this by now?” The wind ruffled through his hair, and he felt very dashing. He liked feeling dashing. “Another one – what did the Viscount of Kirkwall say when the Princess of Starkhaven gifted him with a new hunting hound?”

Orryck suddenly looked less amused. “I don’t know, boss.”

“‘A lovely gift, Your Highness, but why on earth are you on all fours?’”

Mira burst into laughter, and even Orryck seemed to be fighting back a smile. “Small problem there, boss,” he said. “The princess’s too ugly to mix up with some dog.”

Zevran laughed. Unfortunately, that had been his last joke. His thoughts swirled overhead again, threatening to crash down on him. “Mira, tell me, how many days is it to Redcliffe again?”

She shrugged. “Two or three, depending on how fast these louts move.” She gestured back to the rest of the troop, a band of thugs that was trailing them some fifty yards back.

He looked back at them and nodded. “We must find a way to inspire them,” he said. “What do Fereldan men like?”

“Cheap ale and easy lays,” Mira replied.

Zevran considered this. “You Fereldans may not be so bad after all.”

Suddenly, there was a whistle from across the plains. The three riders immediately went tense – that was the signal from their scouts that trouble was up ahead. While Mira and Orryck looked concerned, a thrill had traipsed up Zevran’s spine. Perhaps he was finally going to chase the past from his mind.

A scout came galloping up to them, the sounds of her hooves echoing off the empty plains of the Bannorn. The scout reared up next to them with a flushed face. “Boss!” she gasped. “Travelers up ahead!”

“Stay calm, my friend,” he said, holding out a hand. “I doubt they mean us any harm.”

“It’s not that, boss!” she said. “There’s a Qunari with them – I think they might be our targets!”

“That, or Qunari are popping out of the ground like the damn darkspawn,” Orryck growled.

Zevran looked ahead at the horizon with a frown. None of this made sense. “We were told the Wardens would be in Redcliffe.”

“Yeah, well, tell them that.” She pointed to the group approaching from the nearest hill. Zevran scanned over them slowly, matching each individual to the descriptions that had been laid out in his contract. The Qunari. The exotic witch. The pale elf. The red-haired girls. The handsome idiot knight. It was the Wardens, there was no doubt about it. The only difference now was that an elderly mage had started traveling with them. He felt for her – she had picked a bad time to join the Wardens. But why weren’t they in Redcliffe?

“What do we do, boss?” Mira asked as they drew closer, her hand twitching for her dagger. “Do we attack?”

He shook his head. “Wait,” he said slowly, still trying to make sense of what was happening. “There’s too many of them now. Let’s just see what they want.”

The Wardens had drawn close enough to make out their faces. He was impressed; they were all remarkably good-looking. A real tragedy that they all had to die. “Excuse me,” the pale elf said, walking up to him. Zevran looked down at him and had to keep himself from blinking. The elf was lanky but well-built, with a delicate, angular face and a kind smile. What drew Zevran’s attention, however, were his eyes. They were clear gray and bright, reflecting the light around them. They were exactly the kind of eyes that Zevran had been trying to forget. “We’ve been arguing about where we’re heading for age,” the elf said in a soft, polite voice. “Do you know if this is the road to Denerim?”

Zevran stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. “You have the right road, my friend,” he said, staring over the group. “The city is but two days from here.” They looked more dangerous than he had been led to believe; this was going to be more difficult than he had thought.

The group, however, sighed in relief. “I told you all we were going the right way,” the idiot knight said.

“Perhaps, Alistair, if you did not have the tendency to make a complete fool of yourself 99% of the time we would be more inclined to believe you when you actually said something correct.”

“Oh, wow, a scathing insult from Morrigan, what an out-of-character moment for you.”

“You did a very nice job directing us, Alistair,” the elder mage said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And you’re very clever, Morrigan.”

“Thanks, Wynne,” the knight said, beaming. The witch just scowled.

 “Well, anyways, thank you!” the elf said to Zevran. The assassin nodded his head, still struck by the elf’s eyes. “Safe travels!”

“Same to you, my friend.” He watched as the group disappeared down the road, calculating the odds of winning a fight against them. They were not good.  

“What should we do, boss?” Mira asked. “Go after them?”

He shook his head, thinking. “They’re too strong for us – too many spellcasters. We’ll need to ambush them to even the odds.” He already knew the perfect spot outside Denerim to wait.

“Should we tell the Arl?” Orryck suggested. “Have him arrest them?”

“No,” Zevran said sharply. “The Crows would treat that as a failure, and failure for the Crows means a bit of torture for us.”

Mira and Orryck glanced at each other. “So what do we do, then?”

“We sit down and we wait,” he said. “And then we set our trap.”

* * *

 “Wynne,” Alistair said at breakfast that morning, “are you _sure_ you can’t patch up my socks? I’m going to have blisters otherwise.”

The mage frowned at him as she wiped the bread crumbs from off her lap. “Alistair, I’m not trying to lie to you when I say I don’t know how to darn socks,” she said. “What makes you think I do?”

Alistair shrugged as he scarfed down his last hunk of cheese. “Well, you know, you’ve got that grandmotherly feel about you.”

Wynne scoffed as she rose to her feet. “I’m flattered.”

“Oh, no like that,” he said quickly. “You know, you just seem very nurturing, that’s all.”

“Nice save, Alistair,” Rowena said. She was sweating slightly under the new armor Isolde had given them at Redcliffe; she wiped her brow and turned to throw a stick for Cormac, letting the hound stretch his legs. The gentle hills in the east of Ferelden were shining in the brisk sunlight of the early autumn, and part of her wanted to go running with him. She took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh fall air, and dropped to her knees as Cormac came bounding back to her.

“I do agree with Alistair, though!” Leliana said. “You have a very kind soul, Wynne – you remind me of Lady Cecilie, the woman who helped raise me in Orlais.”

Wynne beamed at her. “That’s very sweet of you to say. Thank you, Leliana.”

“Besides,” Leliana continued, “you’re very young-looking for your age.”

The mage paused. “Well, I suppose I can appreciate the compliment behind that.”

“If we’ve finished discussing Wynne’s advanced age,” Sten said, climbing to his feet, “I suggest we start coming up with a plan for entering the city. We will soon reach Denerim.”

“Do you think we’ll be recognized?” Rowena asked. “They can’t be expecting us.”

“Every Fereldan who has seen me up to this point has seemed ready to wet themselves,” the Qunari grunted. “I imagine they’ll recognize me.”

“Oh, I figured that out ages ago,” Leliana chirped. “Here!” She began rummaging through her rucksack, throwing out arrowheads, bottle of perfume, random sheets of music, and a few daggers. Finally, she pulled out a large Orlesian mask. “I stole this from the arlessa’s dressing room,” she said, rubbing it a little. “She had it hanging on her wall, she wasn’t using it – you can pretend to be a chevalier if you put your hood up!”

Sten stared at her impassively for a moment. “No.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Would you prefer being thrown into a Denerim dungeon? Trust me, it will be much less comfortable than the one in Lothering.”

He mulled that over for a moment, then grabbed the mask. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t expect me to do the accent.”

“Can you even do an Orlesian accent, Sten?” Alistair asked. The Qunari stared at him for a moment, then picked up his rucksack and started walking ahead. “Ok, great, good talk.”

“Ah, this is so exciting!” Leliana said, jumping up to her feet. She had woven flowers into her and Rowena’s hair that morning, and some of them fell out behind her as she pranced. “I haven’t been in a city in _ages_ , even if it is just Denerim!”

 “Denerim’s not that bad, Leliana,” Rowena said, smiling. The city had always been exciting for her, an thrilling, bustling jumble of spires and towers filled with people and things to look at. The last time she had been there, she had won the Denerim Tourney, one of her proudest moments.

Leliana merely rolled her eyes. “Rowena, I grew up around Val Royeaux. There’s absolutely no comparison to be made.”

“You know, I’m originally from Denerim,” Eruestan said casually, shoving a book back into his bag. He had borrowed several heavy tomes from the library at Redcliffe and had taken to reading them over his meals at camp. “I was born in the Alienage.”

Wynne tutted. “Not an easy place to be born in.”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember it at all – I was four when I left.”

“What about your family?” Rowena asked. “Do you remember them?”

He shook his head. “Only bits and pieces.”

“More than most mages,” Wynne remarked. “And frankly, that may be for the best – you don’t know what might be lurking in the past. My own family abandoned me in a barn when I was a child.”

“How awful!” Leliana said, spinning around in horror. “You must have been terrified!”

She chuckled. “I can’t say that I blame them. I took a liking to fire spells at that age. When the Templars found me I’d already roasted all of that poor farmer’s chickens.”

Eruestan laughed. “A bit hard to imagine you doing that now.”

Wynne winked. “That’s only because you haven’t seen me around any chickens.”

Rowena chuckled and looked over to Alistair. The knight was smiling vaguely at what Wynne had said, but his eyes looked troubled. “Are you all right?” she asked gently. “Excited to get to Denerim, too?”

“Huh? Oh, right…” He shook his head. “Sorry…all this talk of Denerim…weirdly, it’s making me think of Duncan. I was with him when I was last in the city”

She smiled sadly. “When was that?”

“Almost six months ago, at this point…” He was silent for a moment. “I’d just seen darkspawn for the first time. He really helped me work through it…”

She paused and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll avenge him, Alistair,” she said firmly. “Loghain will pay.”

He nodded, his eyes still distant. “Yes, he will…but enough of that.” He shook his head and grinned at her sheepishly. “Sorry I brought it up – way to spoil a beautiful day, right?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “Anytime you need me, I’m here to listen.”

He smiled. “Well, thank you, I—oh, wait, this fell…” He bent down and picked up a daisy that had come undone from her hair. “Here, if you want I can…” For some reason her heart was pounding. She nodded and let him place the flower behind her ear. In doing so, his hand accidently brushed against her cheek. It was rough, but gentle and timid, and suddenly Rowena couldn’t help but notice how awfully handsome he actually was…

“Uh, hello?” Eruestan called out. They both started and looked over. He and the rest of the group were some thirty feet ahead of them. “Are you two coming? Because the city’s this way.”

“We’re coming!” she yelled back, heart rate returning to normal. Flashing a grin back at Alistair, she dashed ahead, hair streaming behind her.

As she got to the top of the hill, Rowena stopped suddenly and caught her breath. Denerim stretched out in front of them, a giant mass of walls and towers hugging the coast of the Waking Sea. All of a sudden she was thirteen again and in a carriage with her family. Fergus had been driving her crazy since they had left Amaranthine, teasing her mercilessly about the crush she had admitted having on the new king. He had been ruthless, and Rowena had just been about to hit him when the city sprawled out in front of them. It had been beautiful; she could still remember the looks on her parents’ faces as they saw her light up in wonder. A thrill of rage fell down her spine thinking of everything she had lost. Howe was somewhere in the city. Revenge had never been so close.

Someone was by her side all of a sudden. “Are you all right?” Alistair asked. “I haven’t ruined your mood, have I?”

She grunted and shook her head. “Just admiring the view,” she said gruffly. “Let’s get moving.”

The walls of Denerim were tall and sturdy, some of the strongest in Ferelden. They towered over the road leading to the city gates, dwarfing the crowd of people clogging the thoroughfare. Rowena had never seen so many people at Denerim before. The sea of tents and mountains of broken furniture vaguely reminded her of the camps at Lothering. The atmosphere in Denerim, however, was calmer than the mood down south. True, there was a tension in the air, but the refugees in the capital were less panicked, more angry with their situation. There was a long line trying to get through the gates, hurling insults at the guards that stood at attention to keep them back.

“Let us through, you bastards!” someone shouted as they drew closer. “We have a right to get into the city, too!”

“ _Order_!” one of the guards was yelling. He and his fellows had created a line to block out the throng of people, their swords drawn and ready for action. “Only one hundred people allowed through a day! Queen’s orders!”

“The queen hasn’t marched all the way here from Gwaren!” one of the women near the front shouted. She was carrying a mattress on her back and a small child in her arms. “All we want is a roof over our heads!”

“Keep this up and you won’t have a head to begin with!” the guard shot back. The crowd erupted in shouts and started pushing forward.

“This is insane,” Alistair said. “How is anyone going to get through that?”

Before Rowena could answer him, Leliana pushed forward, clearing the way by keeping Sten at her side. Glancing up at the Qunari, the crowd jumped several paces back, clearly terrified to see a giant walking among them.

“Oi, there, take a step back!” one of the guards yelled as she approached. “No one’s getting into the city!”

“No one?” Leliana said, amplifying her accent by a factor of ten. “Do I look like no one? Arténice, can you believe zat zees man zeenks zat we are no one?”

It took her a moment, but Rowena eventually realized that she was supposed to be Arténice, whoever that was. “Uh…eet eez a scandal,” she said, straightening her back. “Completely _incroyable_.”

“Oh, Andraste’s bleedin’ tits,” one of the guards moaned. “Bloody Orlesians…”

“I am Marie-Sauvanne, chief maid to Lady Eugénie,” Leliana snapped. “My seester and I ‘ave been scouring ze countryside weez our guards to find ze eggs of the ‘ighest quality for our lady! ‘Ow dare you question us!”

The guards looked up at Sten and paled. “Maker’s breath,” one of them breathed. “What are they bloody feeding you chevaliers?”

“Zere are many more like ‘im in Lady Eugénie’s ‘ouse‘old.” Leliana squared her shoulders. “So? Weel you let me _entrer ou pas_?”

“Bella, don’t your sister work for Lady Eugénie?” one of the guards asked.  Rowena felt her heart stop for a moment.

The other guard nodded. “Kate’s always going on about it. Says the whole house is full of them damn Orlesians.”

Her partner sighed. “What’s the country bloody comin’ to… Fine, fine, you can pass through – and no, _you lot stay back!_ ” The crowd broke out into roars again as they walked through the guards, held back by a new team of soldiers.

 “Well done, Rowena!” Leliana whispered as they walked through the gates to the echoes of the crowd. “Your accent’s quite good!”

“Making fun of Orlesians is the Fereldan national pastime,” Rowena whispered back. “We don’t have to keep using them, though, do we?”

“Oh, no, of course not, no one will be paying attention inside the gates,” Leliana said. “This is so much fun, though! I love sneaking into cities pretending to be something I’m not! Oh! Look!”

They had walked out of the gates into the giant Denerim marketplace. Brightly colored tents filled the square as vendors and buyers yelled at each other, haggling for food and goods. It was a familiar sight, one that had greeted her every time she had come to Denerim. Still, even here something was different. Although the people were calmer inside the walls, there was palpable tension in the air, and a line of shanty houses had been built along the interior of the city’s walls. Yet as always, the people of Denerim seemed determined to keep a stiff upper lip even in face of the Blight. As the vendors hawked their wares, dogs and children ran everywhere between the stalls, barking and giggling in excitement. Cormac whined, wanting to join the fun.

“Not yet, boy,” Rowena said, scratching his head. “Denerim’s not quite safe for us.”

Eruestan was consulting a map. “According to the arlessa, Genitivi’s house is down that way,” he said, pointing down a row of stalls. “Stick together, everyone, and let’s get moving. There’s no point in stopping to browse, we’ve got very little money.”

“Oh, but Eruestan,” Alistair said, stopping in front of a weapons stand, “look, they’ve got longswords – Sten, Rowena, check it out…”

“Fine crafted dwarven wares,” the dwarven salesman said to them. “Fresh from the forges of Orzammar themselves.”

“Well, we’re fresh out of money, so no thanks,” Eruestan said, pushing them along. “Let’s just keep moving and—”

“Oh, Rowena, Morrigan, look!” Leliana gasped. “What lovely dresses! And the shoes!”

Eruestan frowned. “Leliana, we have to—” He paused and visibly perked up. “Wait, is that a bookseller? Wynne?”

Rowena smiled as the two mages hurried over to the book merchant. She considered heading over to the weapon’s booth with Alistair and Sten, but then realized that her own sword was far better than anything she could find in a shop. So, instead she walked up to Leliana’s booth. “So what’s going on here?” she asked, peering over the bard’s shoulder.

“Latest fashions in dresses and shoes, serah,” the merchant said. “I have last year’s fashion books, too, taken from the tourney. I’d have made new ones this year, but with the Blight there wasn’t anything new to look at.”

“Oh, look at the queen’s gown, I love that gold thread,” Leliana cooed, flipping through the pages in the catalogue. “She must be so lovely in person.”

“She is,” Rowena said, remembering how kind Anora had always been to her. She turned to Morrigan and noticed that the witch was gently toying with a gold necklace. “You know, that would look really nice on you, Morrigan,” she said. “It matches your eyes.”

Morrigan drew her hand away quickly, as if she’d been burned. “Would it? I did not notice,” she said. “I was just…noticing the shoddy workmanship, that is all.” She turned around abruptly and walked towards the bookstand.

“Ooo, these are pretty,” Alistair said, walking up to them. “Are you going to get anything?”

She shook her head. “I’m all right, but Leliana sounds like she might.”

“Shh,” the bard said, staring intently at the book. “I’m studying, I haven’t been able to catch up on fashion in ages…oh! Look! Rowena, it’s you!”

Surprised, Rowena looked over her shoulder and laughed at the red-haired girl drawn on the page. “They put the blue dress in? I liked the green one a lot more.”

“It still looks beautiful,” Alistair said. She looked over and smiled at him. Sten sighed and walked away.

“So _that’s_ what Eleanor Cousland looked like,” Leliana said in satisfaction. “People in Orlais would always talk about her whenever Ferelden came up. She was very beautiful, too.”

Rowena’s face grew cold. “You would have liked her, Leliana,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “She was like you: very clever, always knew how to handle people.”

“You must miss her,” Alistair said quietly.

She looked up at him and nodded. “I miss all of them,” she said. “Every day.”

“Look, all this murmuring’s nice for you and everything, but are you going to buy something or not?” the merchant said.

Rowena glanced down at the necklace Morrigan had been looking at. “Actually, yes. How much for this?”

As the woman took her gold, Eruestan walked forward, trying to shove two new books into his backpack. “I’m a disgrace,” he said, huffing.

“Hey, not all our money needs to be practical,” she replied. “Wardens need to enjoy life, too.”

“That, or I’m just weak – and don’t answer that, Sten.” He finally managed to close the pack and stood up, brushing the hair out of his face. “Right, well, we should get to Genetivi’s house, though. We don’t want to spend the night in the city.”

They made their way down an alley and turned onto a spacious, well-paved street. The houses here were wide and sturdy, made of grey stone and bearing wide windows. The street itself was much calmer than the market, almost as if it were in a different city. Rowena walked up to the house Eruestan had pointed to and knocked. There was silence for a moment, then a boy of roughly her own age opened the door.

“Oh!” She blinked in surprise. “Brother Genitivi…you’re…young…”

“No, this isn’t him,” Wynne said, frowning. “I’m sorry, we must have the wrong home.”

“No, this is Brother’s Genitivi’s home,” the boy said. His voice was odd, as if he was struggling to make it sound normal. “I’m just his assistant, Weylon. I’m afraid he’s not here, though. Brother Genitivi’s been missing for months.”

“We know,” Eruestan said. “Arlessa Isolde of Redcliffe sent us here to look for him.”

The boy scoffed. “Every week a different knight comes from Redcliffe looking for clues. What more do you think you could find here?”

“That’s for us to say,” Rowena said. “Do you mind if we come in?”

He hesitated, then stepped aside. “Be careful, though, I just cleaned the floors.”

As she stepped inside, Rowena had the instant impression of walking into a library. Books lined the walls, filled chests, covered tables – it all made her a bit dizzy. Otherwise, the house was clean, quiet, and softly lit.

Eruestan walked over to the main table in the center of the room and picked up one of the books. “These are all on the Urn,” he said, rustling through the pile. “He could have noted something in any of these.”

“Genitivi hates writing in books,” Weylon said. “If he found anything, he’d have written it down in his notes.”

“And where are his notes?” Wynne asked.

He shrugged. “With him, unfortunately.”

“And he didn’t tell you where he was going?” Leliana asked, turning around from a bookshelf. “Strange way to treat an assistant.”

“I wasn’t his research assistant, just his housekeeper,” Weylon said quickly. “He comes and goes all the time. I’m just supposed to keep the house in order while he’s gone.”

“Did he leave anything behind?” Eruestan asked. “Maps, scrap paper?”

“If he did, I probably threw it out,” Weylon replied. “Like I said, I never know where he’s going. For the first two weeks, I didn’t even realize he was missing. I do a deep clean after he leaves – anything he left behind was probably destroyed.”

Rowena began examining a shelf near the back wall. There were far too many books in the room – it would be impossible to find anything hidden inside them. She walked over to the back wall, looking through a pile of books stacked near a door. The, all of a sudden, there was a horrible smell. “Morrigan,” she murmured, “do you smell that?”

The witch nodded. “‘Tis the stench of decaying flesh.”

Rowena turned around. “Excuse me, what’s behind this door?”

“That’s Genitivi’s bedroom,” Weylon said. “He’s doing some experiments on putrefaction, I trust you will not do him the dishonor of disturbing them.”

Rowena was almost fooled. Leliana, however, was not. “You’re hiding something,” she said sharply. “What’s really behind there?”

Weylon frowned, but Rowena noticed that his hand twitched slightly. “What? You’re crazy, I’m not hiding anything.”

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged a look. “Open that door,” she yelled. “Tell us what’s going on!”

“Nothing’s going on!” Weylon was growing pale. “You can’t go in there!”

“Like hell we can’t!” Rowena took a look back at the door. Hewn out of old wood, it looked relatively flimsy. Appraising its weak points, she took a deep breath and kicked it down.

The stench flared up, and suddenly someone yelled in rage behind her. She turned around to see Weylon rushing at her with a knife. Then there was a flash of fur, and Cormac buried his teeth in the man’s leg and threw him to the ground. “Cormy, heel!” Rowena said sharply as Weylon screamed in pain. The Mabari drew back, still snarling in the man’s face. “Sten, Alistair, hold him down.”

While Weylon struggled in the main room, Rowena and the others made their way into the bedroom. The smell was horrible; Rowena wanted to retch. It was a small bedroom with just a bed and several stacks of books. On a work bench pushed against the opposite wall, however, a cow carcass was rotting on top of a white tablecloth.

“Was he telling the truth?” Eruestan asked, face pale.

“He wasn’t,” Leliana said. Pinching her nose, she walked over to the work table and lifted up the tablecloth. “There we are.”

Rowena felt sick. The maggoty, decayed corpse of a young man was lying underneath. “That’s not Genitivi, is it?”

Wynne shook her head, lips curled in disgust. “Too young, too tall. Brother Genitivi’s a short man.”

They returned to the main room. Weylon was struggling more feebly now, his face white from blood loss. “I see you’ve met Weylon,” he spat, shaking. “Didn’t know what to do with the body – those knights were too honorable, they didn’t want to invade someone’s private space.”

“Who are you?” Rowena barked. “Where is Genitivi?”

“Andraste will preserve me,” he said, shuddering. Face screwed up in pain, he began gnawing on his fingers. “Her fires will purify me.”

“Wynne, help me stop the bleeding,” Eruestan said, bending down by his leg. “We need him to answer our—”

Weylon started to scream, making everyone jump. Then his voice started to gargle, and to Rowena’s horror his skin starting sizzling. Burning holes were appearing in his throat as though his flesh was melting in front of them. With a final twitch he collapsed, his throat now a gaping, ugly hole.

“Andraste’s ass!” Alistair jumped away from him, hands in the air. “What just happened?”

“Acid,” Sten said, peering at Weylon’s hands. “He was wearing a ring that bore a vial of it. Someone sent him here.”

“Check his body,” Leliana said quickly, “I’m going to his bedroom and see if I can find anything about him.”

Rowena helped ruffle through the man’s pockets, ignoring the blood and gore spilled down his shirt. Aside from the keys to the house and a grocery list, however, they were empty. “Any luck, Leliana?”

“I think so,” she said, walking in with a piece of parchment. “Take a look at this.”

She put the parchment down on the table as everyone else crowded around her.

_Disciple Hakor,_

_Thou hast spake truth – the Brother Genitivi hath came to Haven this thriday past. Thou must in the lowland kingcity remain – should the thame of this brother prave halth as large as thou speak, many shalk-l come to seeke him. Hath courage, disciple: our lady Andraste protecteth her servants._

_Disciple Gort_

“Gort?” Alistair asked, looking up at the others. “What kind of name is ‘Gort’?”

“Such a strange dialect of Fereldan,” Wynne said, frowning. “No one’s spoken like that for several hundred years, I imagine.”

“Where’s this Haven?” Eruestan asked her.

She shook her head. “No place I’ve ever heard of.”

“Well, it says the ‘lowland kingcity’,” Alistair said. “That means they have to be from the western mountains, right?”

“That could be anywhere, though,” Rowena said. “The Frostbacks stretch over the entire border with Orlais.”

 “Hm…” Leliana was frowning. “He said Genitivi didn’t write in any of his books…that may have been a bluff…”

“Leliana, there have to be 1000 books in here,” Eruestan said with a frown. “We don’t have time to—”

She grabbed an atlas off the shelf and threw it on the table, flipping it to the section on Western Ferelden.

“Well, ok, that might be a good start,” he admitted, “but Haven could be anywhere, you can’t just expect to find it circled on a—”

“Found it,” she said, pointing to a circle on the map. “It’s near a peak called the Dragon’s Mouth in the central Frostbacks. It’s right off the Western Road, too, look.”

He looked defeated. “Well, good, then. I’m glad you found it.’

“The Frostbacks are far,” Wynne said. “It will take a long time to get there.”

“All the more reason to get moving now,” Rowena said. “Let’s head out.”

She opened the door back outside and paused. An arrow with a bright blue plume was jutting out of the doorframe. “Um, guys?” she said, looking back. “I think the world’s worst assassin is trying to kill us.”

“Give me that!” Leliana snapped. She yanked the shaft out of the wood and examined it closely, peering at the arrowhead. Rowena saw a small “M” that had been gracefully etched into the metal. “I know who did this,” Leliana said grimly.

“Who was it?” Eruestan asked.

“She won’t hurt us,” Leliana said. “She just wants to send a message.” She snapped the arrow in half and threw it to the ground. “Let’s get out of here.”

She marched ahead before anyone else could say anything. Exchanging looks, Rowena and Eruestan shrugged and began to follow her back towards the gates.

They left Denerim without any problems. The crowds seemed to have cleared from the city entrance as the sun set overhead, unwilling to be caught out after dark. As they ventured away from Denerim, however, Rowena could tell that tensions were starting to rise among the members of her own party.

“I’m telling you, we should have stopped in a tavern and gotten something to eat,” Alistair grumbled. “I don’t want to cook.”

“Stopping in a tavern would be asking to get arrested,” Leliana said. “The food in prison is even worse than your cooking.”

Alistair snorted. “You haven’t tried my mystery stew, then.”

“Mystery stew?” she asked. “What’s that?”

“Can’t say,” he said. “It’s a mystery.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll cook.”

“Either way I shall not eat,” Morrigan sniffed.

“By the way, Morrigan,” Rowena said, sidling up to her, “I have something for you.”

The witch raised her eyebrows and turned to her. “Is that so? Another senseless chore, perhaps?”

Rowena smiled and pulled out the necklace. “Not quite.”

Morrigan blinked and took the gold chain. She walked in silence for a moment, and then said, “What do you want from me?”

Rowena frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You are obviously trying to win my allegiance, thus you must have some task in mind for me,” she replied. “What do you wish me to do?”

“Nothing,” Rowena said in disbelief. “I just wanted to do something nice.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I can take it back if you don’t want it,” she said, now slightly annoyed.

“N-no, ‘tis fine.” Morrigan looked unnerved. “I…no one has ever given me a gift before. I’m not quite sure what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Rowena said, touched. “It’ll look nice on you.”

“Thank you, Rowena,” Morrigan said quietly. “I greatly appreciate this.”

Acting on impulse, Rowena went in to hug her. The witch took a giant step back. “I fear we have not quite reached that point yet,” she said, eyes wide.

“Right, right,” Rowena muttered, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Someone’s coming,” Sten said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the road. “They’re running as well.”

Before Rowena could ready herself, a young woman ran around the corner, panting heavily. “Oh, thank the Maker,” she said, gasping. “We’ve flipped our cart, we need help getting it back over. Please, you have to help!”

She led them back around the bend into a small valley. Rowena struggled to make them out in the fading sunlight. A group of men was standing around an overturned cart in the center, staring expectantly at the mouth of the valley. A blond elf was walking up to them, grinning broadly. “Thank you for your help!” he said in an Antivan accent.

Rowena froze and drew her blade. She recognized that elf. “It’s a trap!” she yelled. “Fall back!”

There was a rumbling and an explosion as the rocks of the valley entrance collapsed on top of them. With a roar, Rowena raised her shield and waited for the collision…yet nothing came. Confused, she looked up and saw that a bright blue light was emanating from Wynne, suspending the rocks in the air. Rowena had never seen such power before – it almost looked as if the blue light was rising from Wynne’s throat. With a giant scream, the mage thrust her hands to the side, blasting the rocks away. As the blue light faded, she collapsed to the ground.

“Wynne!” Eruestan raced to her. She waved him off, clutching her side.

“Go!” she gasped. “I’m all right!”

Rowena spun around and drew her blade, quickly examining their assailants. The valley was full of them; it was the entire mercenary troop they had come across on their way into the city. Leliana had already climbed on top of a rock and was firing arrows at them. The woman who had tricked them was attacking her, spinning wildly with a dagger in each hand. She was quick, dodging all of Rowena’s blows like dance steps. Her daggers crashed so violently against Rowena’s shield that she was pushed back slightly by the force. The assassin spun around, trying to attack her again. Rowena ducked below her blades and then lunged out with her own, piercing the assassin’s stomach. As her first attacker fell to the ground, a second one took her place. Rowena blasted him aside with her shield and stabbed him through the head.

She cut down a handful of other combatants and then took a quick moment to reorient herself. Eruestan and Morrigan were casting spells from the sidelines, cautiously conserving their magic, while Sten and Alistair were fighting their own group of enemies. Before she could join them, however, something flashed past her face. A throwing knife was embedded in a tree behind her. Suddenly the blond elf was right in front of her, attacking in a whirlwind of powerful blows. She steadied her shield and quickly changed her stance, allowing for faster footwork. The elf lunged forward, almost stabbing her face with his dagger. She bent back and then snapped forward, trying to do the same to him. He spun away from her sword, and she bashed him to the earth with her shield. Grinning viciously, she plunged forward. Suddenly, he threw a cloud of dirt in her eyes. She closed them immediately, trying to maintain her stance. The elf attacked from her side, knocking her off her feet. Sight blurred, she raised her shield as he leapt at her, dagger raised high…when out of nowhere a large rock bashed him in the head, knocking him unconscious to the ground.

Blinking dirt out of her eyes, Rowena looked over to see Morrigan lower her staff. “Thanks,” she called out, climbing to her feet.

The fight was over. Eruestan rushed back to Wynne’s side. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “Here, let me see if I can heal you…”

“I’m fine, I’m not injured,” she said, rising to her feet. “Just ran out of energy, that’s all. No need to worry.”

“You collapsed, Wynne,” Eruestan said with a frown. “That’s not something to just ignore.”

“I’ll explain later,” she said quietly. “For now I’m fine.” He shook his head, but turned back to the group.

“So, what was that about?” Alistair asked. “Hired assassins?”

“Why don’t we ask him?” Leliana said, pointing to the blond elf. He was stirring slightly, head bleeding.

“Hold him down,” Eruestan said, walking over to him. Sten and Rowena yanked him to a kneeling position and grabbed his shoulders. The elf was very handsome, with a chiseled jaw and softly tanned skin. Rowena noticed that his arms were very well-defined, with delicate tattoos outlining his muscles.

Eruestan stepped forward and snapped his fingers. The elf’s eyes fluttered open in a flash of blue light. “Aye, _santo Creatore_ ,” he groaned in Antivan. “What did I drink last night…”

“ _Stai zitto, bastardo_!” Rowena and Leliana said at the same time. They paused and stared at each other.

“You speak Antivan?” Rowena asked in shock.

“Of course I speak Antivan,” Leliana said. “You speak Antivan?”

“And I do too, what a happy occasion, yes?” the elf said, rubbing his temples. “Maker, my head…”

“Shut up,” the two of them said again.

“Why did you attack us?” Eruestan said, standing over him with his arms crossed.

“I was hired,” the elf said. “Though I must say, most of my targets are less skilled than you…less attractive, too, but I suppose now is not the time for flattery.”

“You suppose right,” Eruestan said, though Rowena could see that the corners of his mouth had turned up slightly. “Who hired you, then?”

“Teyrn Loghain and Arl Howe,” the elf said without pause.

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “You gave that up awfully easily.”

“I have no loyalty to either of them,” the assassin said. “Nor do I have any desire to be interrogated, considering that my life is already forfeit.”

“Why’s that?” Eruestan asked.

He hesitated. “Perhaps a formal introduction would explain my situation. My name is Zevran Arainai, Master Assassin of the Antivan Crows.”

“Really?” Leliana asked, face lighting up. “Oh, that’s so exciting! And it explains so much!”

“Does it?” Rowena asked.

She nodded. “He’s failed his mission – we’re still alive. The Crows will have to kill him to save face. And if the Crows want to kill someone, they usually succeed.”

“Recent events excepting, of course,” he said. “However, I have very recently realized that I am not overly fond of the idea of dying – a character flaw, I know, but then not even sex gods are perfect.” The whole group snorted, and the assassin shrugged. “In any case, I would like to make an offer to you.”

Eruestan scoffed. “This ought to be good.”

Zevran looked up at him and winked. “Unfortunately, it is nothing _that_ fun, my handsome friend – not yet, at least.” Eruestan rolled his eyes, but to Rowena’s glee his ears had flushed. “Let us get to business, however. I offer you my services in exchange for your protection,” he continued. “I travel with you, and you keep the Crows away.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then most of the group burst into laughter.

“‘Offer us your services’,” Alistair said, wiping his eyes. “What would that be, a friendly knife to the throat while we sleep?”

“‘Tis such a stupid idea, one would think you came up with it, Alistair,” Morrigan said, chuckling. “We should invite Teyrn Loghain to travel with us as well, t’would be just as ridiculous.”

Eruestan and Rowena, however, were exchanging a significant look. To her, it made sense that he’d want extra protection from the assassins. Alistair’s joke aside, Zevran couldn’t seriously hope to kill all of them while they slept, especially with so many people keeping watch. There was no denying that he was skilled, either; she had fought him, after all, and almost lost. “I think it’s a good idea,” she said.

“I do, too,” Eruestan said quietly.

There was another pause. “ _What_?” everyone said.

“He just tried to kill us!” Leliana said, eyes wide. “You can’t seriously be considering that!”

“Why not?” Eruestan asked. “You said yourself, the Crows are after him now, he needs protection. Why betray us then?”

“That also means the Crows will target us, too, though,” Wynne said, eyebrows furrowed.

“The Crows are already targeting us,” Rowena said. “Zevran might be able to identify traps or attacks.”

“Or lead us into them,” Sten growled.

Leliana shook her head thoughtfully. “He’s already failed, he’s dead to the Crows – even if he gave us to them, they’d still attack him.”

“She is correct,” the assassin said. “The Crows do not like failure.”

“And I don’t like assassins,” Alistair said. “Do we really want to do this?”

“I think so,” Rowena said. “He could be useful.”

“I do enjoy being used,” the elf said, winking. “Especially by such good-looking users.”

She gave him a withering look. “Actually, on second thought…”

“Look, he’s no longer a threat to us, and his skills could really help us,” Eruestan said. His face was slightly flushed, and Rowena couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else motivating his decision besides reason and practically. “I vote he come with us.”

“As do I,” Rowena said.

Leliana hesitated. “So do I.”

“I do not,” Wynne said, shaking her head. “There are merits to keeping your enemies close, but that has its limits, too.”

“Yeah, I don’t like it,” Alistair said. “Get rid of him now, we don’t need him.”

“I agree,” Morrigan said. “Kill him now and end our troubles.”

Alistair looked at her in surprise. “Morrigan, you agreed with me!”

“Hopefully for the last time,” she muttered.

Rowena turned to Sten. “It’s your decision, then, Sten,” she said. “We’re at an impasse otherwise.”

The Qunari looked down at the elf for a moment. Zevran put on a smile that he clearly thought was quite charming. “A man’s worth is not determined by his past, but by his future,” he said finally. “It would be a mistake to let our recent dealings with this man distort our view of his skills. I say we let him come.”

“Ugh, fine,” Alistair said. “But I’m not taking watch alone with him tonight.”

“Welcome to the group, Zevran!” Leliana said brightly. “We have lots of fun together, and we’re going to the most interesting places! Right now we’re looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes!”

He raised his eyebrows. “The Urn of Sacred Ashes?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Rowena said. “We’ll fill you in.”

He winked. “One of my favorite sentences – though I wish I had heard it from the lips of your beautifully busted friend.”

Wynne blinked as she looked down at him. “Are you…are you talking about me?”

“Most certainly,” he said. “Tell me, _bellissima_ , are you single?”

Rowena sighed. It was going to be a long Blight.


	26. Blood of the Outsider

“So, let me guess,” Rowena said dully as she propped herself up against a tree. “This one also _has_ to be the road to Haven.”

Leliana looked up from the map she was reading and scowled. “Don’t be cynical, Rowena, you sound like Morrigan. And for your information, yes, I do think that this does have to be the road to Haven.”

Eruestan sighed and shifted his feet, trying to ignore how much pain they were in. They had been on the road for about three weeks, and everyone’s patience was running a little thin. Not that he blamed them, of course. He, too, was starting to crave a solid night’s sleep in a warm bed and a bath that didn’t involve plunging into a freezing cold river. Making matters worse, they had begun to run low on money, which meant significant cuts to the daily food budget. The sooner they could find Haven, the better.

That, however, was proving harder than they had first anticipated. “It simply _has_ to be up this mountain,” Leliana said for the fifth time that week. She peered closely at the map she had torn from Brother Genitivi’s atlas as if pleading for it to reveal something she had previously overlooked. “I just don’t understand!” she huffed. “All these mountains, and yet so far all we’ve managed to find is a bunch of snow and dead trees!”

“Look on the bright side, my fine-looking friend,” Zevran said, looking at his reflection in one of his daggers. “They were very tall dead trees, at the very least.”

Eruestan gave a small laugh and peered more closely at the map. Then, of course, there was Zevran. Within three weeks, the assassin had already begun treating the rest of them as though they were his oldest friends. Zevran had a joke or an outlandish story for everything and was the first to try to flatter any of them, particularly Wynne and her bosom. While it drove the enchanter mad, it had been enough to win over most of the others. In the end, the assassin was more likely to sleep with them than try to kill them.

Zevran ran a hand through his hair, showing off the tattoos along his defined biceps. Eruestan gulped. Zevran was also ridiculously handsome. That certainly didn’t hurt, either. 

“Guys, Zevran’s right,” Rowena said. “We should keep a positive attitude about this. This village has to be somewhere – if it’s not up this road, we’ll keep looking until we find it.”

“Please, _bellissima_ , call me Zev,” he purred, winking at her. “All of my friends call me Zev.”

Alistair snorted, his face suddenly flushed. “Friends? Who says we’re your friends?”

Zevran pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me, Alistair.”

“Zev, be quiet, you’re distracting me,” Eruestan said, trying to concentrate on Genitivi’s map. For some reason, he was suddenly jealous of Rowena and the attention Zevran gave her. The elf hardly ever spoke to him in camp, preferring to flirt with literally everyone else. He had even tried to chat up Sten, although the Qunari had almost threatened to cut him in half. Eruestan, however, was treated with the utmost respect. He tried to focus harder on the map, unwilling to think about what that lack of attention might mean. He had never cared too much about attracting someone else before – why should it matter now?

To his surprise, though, Zevran looked over at him and winked. “You see? Eruestan calls me ‘Zev’.”

The mage flushed. Alistair, however, crossed his arms. “Eruestan’s more forgiving than I am,” he said.

Zevran sighed and put a hand on the knight’s shoulder. “Alistair, my friend, why hold on to the grudges of the past? Let bygones be bygones!”

Alistair shrugged off his hand in shock. “You tried to kill us!”

“And who hasn’t tried to kill you?” Zevran asked. “You’ll never make any new friends if you hold onto that attitude.”

“Good!” Alistair said, his voice cracking in astonishment. “I don’t want to befriend people who are trying to murder me!”

“Both of you!” Eruestan and Leliana snapped. “Quiet!”

“Look, this is the last road for miles,” Wynne pointed out, looking at the map with them. “If it’s not up here, it’s not anywhere.”

Eruestan sighed. “I just wish there were a sign, a road marker, anything.”

“Something tells me these people do not wish to be found,” Morrigan said. She had been wearing a new gold chain since they left Denerim, exactly the sort of thing Eruestan would have never imagined she would like. He wondered where she found it. “I doubt we shall find any sign that they are here.”

“Good point,” he said. He sighed and shook his head. “Fine, let’s head up the road – but not so fast, Zev. We don’t want to charge into this village if they’re going around killing people.”

“Killing people is my specialty,” he reminded him, nodded his head. Eruestan rolled his eyes, secretly pleased to engage with him like that. “But, seeing as you, unlike some people, have called me Zev, I shall comply.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Alistair muttered as the assassin pulled ahead.

“Somebody’s jealous,” Rowena teased, walking next to him.

Alistair looked at her in horror. “What? I’m not jealous! What would I be jealous of?”

“There’s another good-looking, funny blond in the group,” Leliana giggled. “You feel threatened.”

“I do not!” Alistair looked desperately around, seeing the malicious looks on everyone’s faces. “It’s not true! I’ve got tons of stuff going for me that he doesn’t!”

“Quite right, Alistair,” Morrigan said. “You are still the group idiot, after all.”

He scowled. “Thanks, Morrigan.”

The path suddenly began to steepen, making them lapse into silence as they forced their way upwards. The autumn air was bracing, chilling Eruestan’s lungs. Every now and then a burst of wind barreled down the mountain, slamming into them and making them gasp with cold. The view, however, was magnificent. The Bannorn stretched out below as far as the eye could see. He had never seen such open space before.

“The beauty attracts your eye, my friend,” Zevran said, coming up to him out of nowhere.

Eruestan looked away from the view and smiled at him. Zevran had stunning dark green eyes, like emeralds. “It’s breathtaking,” he said, gesturing at the view. “You don’t get anything like that at the Circle of Magi.”

“Ah, the famous Tower of Ferelden,” Zevran said, grinning. “I have heard many stories of life in your Circle.”

“I shudder to think what those might be,” Wynne said, coming up from behind them. “Outsiders get the strangest ideas about what we do.”

“Orgies,” Zevran said bluntly. “Free love everywhere. Blood-fueled sex rites under the full moon.”

Wynne paused. “Fair enough, actually. Besides the blood part.”

“Not for me!” Eruestan said, laughing in shock. “What are you enchanters getting up to?”

“Physical expression!” Zevran said, turning to him. “Joy! Life! Are you so against pleasure, _amico mio_?”

“Of course I’m not,” Eruestan said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s just not something I really think about, that’s all.”

“Not at _all_?” The assassin sounded horrified. “Surely you jest? It is all I ever think about!”

“No one doubted that, Zevran,” Eruestan said, flushing slightly. “I just – it’s not my area of expertise, that’s all.”

Zevran frowned at him as though he were some sort of mystical creature. “You have… _partaken_ , haven’t you?”

“This is getting very sordid,” Wynne said, wrinkling her nose. “Can’t we go back to talking about the view?”

Eruestan was fully blushing by then. The conversation suddenly reminded him of a particularly awkward moment he had passed when he was sixteen, back when Jowan had convinced him to go to one of the apprentice parties at the Tower. He had ended up in a dark corner of a classroom with one of the older apprentices, and the resulting memories were sufficiently embarrassing to make him shudder to that day. “Let’s just nothing worth mentioning has happened, at least.”

Zevran looked aghast. “Well, no wonder you are so stressed! This must be rectified, my friend, sooner rather than later.” He bowed before him and then looked up, pausing slightly. “My services will always be there for you should you need them.”

Eruestan’s heart started racing. Still, he managed to smirk and say, “We’ll see about that.”

“The same applies to all my fellows,” the assassin added loudly, turning towards the others before he could make eye contact with Eruestan. “Particularly Wynne and her extraordinary bosom.”

“Stop talking about my bosom,” Wynne hissed. She suddenly stopped and leaned against her staff. Eruestan looked over at her in alarm. “I’m fine!” she said quickly. “Just…lost a bit of energy for a moment.”

Eruestan furrowed his brow. As infrequent as her faint spells were, something about them made him very concerned. . “You know, Wynne,” he said quietly, letting the two of them fall back from the rest of the group, “you never did explain to me about what’s happening to you.”

Her face grew a bit stiff. “I don’t know if now’s the time…”

“We may be about to enter a village full of bloodthirsty killers,” Eruestan said. “We may not have many more opportunities to talk about it.”

She sighed. “Fine—though don’t tell the others just yet, I don’t know how they’ll handle it…I’m fine,” she said, looking at the expression on his face. “I’m not in any danger, nor is anyone else, I’m just in a…delicate situation.”

“Define delicate,” he said.

“Back at the Tower,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “I…well, I died.”

He blinked. “You…you what?”

“I used too much energy,” she said, glancing at him. “My barriers drained me, and when the demon attacked I died. I saw myself fall to the ground – I could feel myself start to enter the Fade.”

Eruestan wasn’t sure what to say. “So…are you a ghost?”

“Not quite,” she said, smiling. “Before my spirit vanished totally, I was suddenly surrounded by a great warmth and strength. It was a force I recognized – I’ve spent a great deal of time in the Fade, and this spirit was a friend I had made long ago.”

Eruestan didn’t like where this was going. “Ok…”

“The spirit brought me back,” she said. “It’s what’s sustaining me now. That’s why my energy comes and goes – I depend on a spirit for my life-force.”

He stopped short and looked at her in horror. “Wynne,” he said. “You’re an Abomination.”

She sighed. “You don’t like to mince words, do you?”

“Sorry,” he said, blushing. “But it’s still true.”

“I know,” she said, looking out onto the plains. “I’m not fully comfortable with the idea myself. But you should know that this spirit is friendly. It only want to help.”

“Uldred thought the same, I bet,” he said quietly.

Wynne’s head snapped toward. “Do _not_ compare me to Uldred,” she said, voice quiet and firm. “I did not bring this upon myself.”

“But it still happened.” The two mages stared at each other for a moment. “I need to think about this, Wynne,” Eruestan said finally, looking down. “I know you mean well, but this goes against everything the Tower has ever taught me. But I won’t tell the others – that’s up to you.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, voice gentler. “I understand how difficult it must be for you to process – it was for me as well. But I truly think this spirit is friendly.”

He started to say something else. However, at that moment someone called out to them from up ahead. “Eruestan, Wynne!” Rowena shouted. “We’ve found it!”

The two mages frowned and pushed ahead. A low wall was stretched out in front of them, blocking the rest of the path. The others were crowded around a small gate. “Are you sure this is it?” Eruestan asked.

“How many hidden mountain villages can there be?” Leliana asked. “This has to be it.”

“That, or we spend the next five years scouring Ferelden for a village that may not even exist,” Sten growled. “Regardless, I am cold. We might as well ask to come in.”

Rowena picked up a rock and rammed it into the gate, creating a loud bang that echoed in the mountain air. There was a moment’s pause as the sound slowly faded. Then, a small window in the gate creaked open. “Who goeth herein?” a man yelled, sword bared. His Fereldan was strange and archaic, as if he was speaking from a history book. “Wherefore come you to Haven?”

Eruestan and Rowena exchanged a look; they had already decided how to approach this. “We’re travelers,” she said. “We thought we might trade here and pass the night.”

“How did you us find?” the man asked, frowning. “No sign lieth upon the path.”

“We got a little lost,” Eruestan said. “We were looking for Orzammar, but we ended up here.”

The guard was silent for a moment. “Outsiders are not welcome in Haven,” he said.

“We won’t stay long,” Rowena said. “Just for the night.”

“Very well,” the man said. “The inn lieth at the heart of the village. You shall go there direct and stay till the morn.”

 “That sounds fine,” Eruestan said. “Can we come in now?”

The guard closed the hatch, then opened the gate. “Welcome to Haven, Outsiders.”

They filed in through the entrance and paused, looking around the village. Haven consisted of about fifteen houses and a tavern clustered at the foot of a long slope. A small chantry lay at the end of the village, nestled against the wall of the mountain. The sun was already starting to set, and a cold night air had started to blow through Haven. The villagers they could see were hurrying to get home, many of them stopping and staring at the outsiders who had just arrived.

“Doesn’t look too dangerous,” Alistair murmured as they walked towards the tavern.

“Don’t fall for it,” Rowena said. “Remember Weylon.”

A small child stopped them in their tracks. “Wherefore are you in Haven?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Outsiders are not welcome here!”

“We’re just staying the night,” Leliana said kindly, crouching down. “What’s your name, little man?”

He glared at her for a moment, then yanked her hair and raced across the village square. “ _Ow_!” she said, standing straight up. “Why, that little—”

“This village may not be prove as awful as we thought,” Morrigan said with a smirk.

“Let’s get to the tavern,” Eruestan said, looking over his shoulder. “That guard is still staring at us…”

“I don’t like this place,” Alistair said. The houses around them were crude and dark, but they could still see the faces of the villagers staring at them through the windows. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

The tavern in Haven was a squat, two-story building with no windows and a low-hanging roof. As they entered the inn, the few villagers sitting around the fire turned around to glare at them. It was a quiet place, devoid of all the carousing Eruestan had come to expect from a village pub. Clearly bemused herself, Rowena went up to the barkeep. “We’d like to rent a few rooms for the night,” she said.

The barkeep stared at them, his eyes lingering on Eruestan, Zevran, and Sten. “Outsiders are not—”

“Welcome here, yeah, yeah, we get it,” Alistair said. “We have the coin to pay for it.”

“Lowlander coin hath no worth in Haven,” the barkeep said. “Hast thou somewhat to trade?”

“No coin?” he asked, shocked. “I don’t…do we have anything?”

“Take this,” Zevran said, pulling a silver amulet off his neck. “I have no use for it.”

“Are you sure?” Eruestan asked, concerned.

He nodded. “It is the sign of the Crows. A bit meaningless now.”

The barkeep examined it. “Quality silver,” he said, tapping it against another coin he had lying on the counter. “This shall suffice. I have two rooms for thee and thy band – they lieth above the stairs.” He paused. “However, thy hound must remain outdoors.”

“I don’t think you want to try to separate us,” Rowena said. Cormac started to growl softly.

The barkeep gulped. “Very well. The hound may with thee rest.”

“Perfect,” she said. “Thank you!”

The group then bought a few bowls of a lumpy stew and sat down around the fire. They ate in silence for a few minutes, aware of the intense looks the villagers were giving them. Eruestan glanced at Leliana, who cleared her throat and turned to the nearest villager. “So it appears you don’t see very many strangers in these parts,” she said warmly. “That must make life rather boring.”

“Life in Haven is perfect,” he said. “No outsider could understand.”

“Right, right,” she said. “Have you had any other visitors, though? Anyone passing through?”

Eruestan noticed that everyone else in the tavern was suddenly paying even closer attention to her. “Not to my knowing, no,” the man said, sipping from his stein.

“Huh,” she said, examining her nails. “Funny, we met a man a while ago who couldn’t stop talking about Haven – his name was Genitivi, maybe he came by here?”

He set his mug down. The others in the bar were now glaring at them, and Eruestan thought he saw the bartender reach for something under the counter. “This is not a name of which I know,” the villager said harshly. “But halt thy asking – thou shalt anger many in Haven should thou asketh more.”

“Of course,” she said quickly, turning away from him. “My apologies, I was just curious.”

“Be not so, then.” He turned around and went back to his drink.

“I think we should go upstairs now,” Rowena murmured, glancing around the bar. “We’re not going to get anything from anyone now. Tomorrow we take a look around town, see if we can’t find Genitivi.”

Nodding to the barkeep, the group set down their bowls and made their way upstairs. “Ah, now it is time to divvy out the beds,” Zevran said, rubbing his hands together. “Who wishes to bunk with me?”

“Not it,” everyone else said.

He sighed. “Oh, come now, all joking aside, I am a very respectful man. You can sleep safely next to me.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you have more than sleep in mind, in which case I will be more than willing to oblige you.”

“Gee, makes you wonder why we have trouble trusting you,” Alistair said.

Eruestan sighed. “I’ll do it, Zevran. But keep the innuendo to a minimum.”

“Now _that_ I cannot control,” the elf said, winking. “Come join me in bed, my fine friend.”

“I already regret this,” Eruestan muttered, trying to hide a smile as the assassin walked into room.

“As Rowena is the only one left of you who does not annoy me, I shall be with her,” Morrigan said, walking into the other room.

“And I’ll bunk with Wynne,” Leliana said.

Alistair scratched his head. “So that leaves me with…Sten…”

The Qunari scowled at him. “Hog the blankets and you won’t survive the night.”

“Eruestan!” Alistair said hastily. “I’ll trade with you!”

“Zevran might be just as dangerous,” Rowena said, winking.

He shrugged. “Between death and being fondled, I prefer living. Besides, Zevran looks like he knows what he’s doing, I might even enjoy it.”

Eruestan sighed, trying to keep his face from flushing. “You two are incorrigible.”

“That’s why you like us, admit it,” Alistair said. “And at least I don’t have to share a bed with Morrigan.”

“I like Morrigan,” Rowena said. “Her heart’s in the right place.”

“Provided she even has one…but hey, better you than me.” He smiled at her. “Be sure to practice those meditation techniques I taught you; the more you do them, the better you’ll be able to resist magic.”

“You’re worse than my old tutor,” she teased. “But I will, don’t worry.”

“Great.” They smiled at each other for a moment, and Eruestan eventually had to roll his eyes and cough. “Right, well, have a good night!” Alistair said hastily.

“You too,” she said, walking into the next room with Cormac. “Try not to let Sten kill you.”

* * *

It had been a long time since Eruestan had shared a bed with someone. The bunks at the Tower were narrow to discourage the apprentices from spending the night together. It was a rule regularly broken, but one that he had always followed. Having someone there now was both strange and, to his chagrin, exciting. That, of course, made matters much more complicated. Still unsure as to how Zevran felt about him (or how he felt about him himself), Eruestan had taken to lying very still to keep from bothering the assassin.

Zevran, however, _was_ very respectful, and had turned away from Eruestan towards the rest of the room. He in turn was nestled against the wall, making sure that his breathing was as quiet as possible. In the middle of the room, Alistair was rolling around on the floor mumbling about sheep in his sleep, long since kicked out of the bed by Sten.

“Does he always do that?” Zevran murmured out of nowhere.

Eruestan started. He’d thought the assassin was asleep. “I don’t know,” he whispered back. “Camp’s usually too loud to hear anything like that.”

Zevran laughed softly. “Well, he should be careful. Otherwise, he might say something he might find embarrassing.”

“Rowena, don’t…” Alistair mumbled loudly. “Sheep…painful…don’t…get hurt…”

Zevran sighed. “Ah, young love. How sweet.” There was a moment’s pause. “You should relax, my friend.”

Eruestan blushed in the dark and looked over. “I’m perfectly relaxed.”

“You have not moved nor made a noise for an hour, and yet you are awake,” Zevran said, turning around. “Either you are a trained member of the Crows, or you are tense because you worry about disturbing my rest. As your many talents do not yet include killing for pay, I must imagine that it is the latter.”

Eruestan smiled in spite of himself. “Sorry, I didn’t want to bother you…”

“Be at ease, Eruestan,” Zevran said. “You do not bother me.”

There was something very reassuring about that. Eruestan shifted into a more comfortable position as Zevran turned back around. Smiling, the mage closed his eyes and almost instantly fell asleep.

* * *

  _A giant dragon was giving a lesson back at the Circle Tower. “What is the transmutability of the average hurlock?” it growled, smoke pouring from its nostrils._

_He didn’t know the answer. “I…is it 4?”_

_“NO!” Fire was pouring out of the dragon’s mouth, engulfing him in flames—_

* * *

 Someone was screaming in the room. At his side, Zevran was leaping out of bed. Disoriented, Eruestan shied away from him, wildly thinking that the elf had tried to assassinate them again. Instead, he quickly realized that the assassin was struggling with someone else, while a third person was writhing around on the floor. Alistair and Sten were rising to their feet on the other side of the room. Waving his hands, he sent a ball of light flying to the ceiling. One of the villagers was thrashing on the ground, clutching at a throwing knife lodged in his throat. In the meantime, the bartender was trying to fight off Zevran who, now aided by the light, reached forward and slit the man’s throat with another knife.

“Andraste’s bleeding ass!” Alistair shouted. “What the hell is going on?”

Suddenly Cormac was barking, and there was a cry and a loud crash from the other room. Fifteen seconds later, their door burst open. “We just got attacked!” Rowena cried, hair wild. She paused and looked around their room. “Ah. Seems you already knew.”

“Is there anyone else in the tavern?” Eruestan asked sharply.

“I will check,” Zevran said, exiting the room. Rowena peered over the villagers and whistled.

“Leliana did the same thing,” she said, pointing to the man with the knife in his throat. “Bad way to go.”

“I don’t feel that sympathetic,” Eruestan snarled. “We need to find Genitivi now.” He went out into the hallway, joining Wynne, Leliana, and Morrigan.

“Does _everyone_ want to kill us?” Morrigan asked. Her clothes were lightly splattered with blood.

“Well, you are very exciting targets,” Zevran said, climbing the stairs. “The tavern is empty. There are not very many places to hide.”

“Let’s get out of here, then,” Rowena said, tying her hair back. “Be on your guard – for all we know, the entire village is waiting outside for us.”

They left the inn with their weapons drawn. The night air was crisp and cool, a full moon hanging low in the sky. The village was completely silent. However, torches had been lit up to lead a path to the chantry, flickering in the darkness of the night.

Zevran walked over to the nearest house and opened the door. “There’s no one here.”

“Here either,” Rowena said, peering in the next one. “Where is everyone?”

Eruestan walked over to the house nearest him and pushed the door open. He then yelped and jumped back. A pale, grotesque face was leering back at him, upside down. For a moment he was paralyzed with shock. Then, he realized that the man was dead.

“What’s the matter?” Rowena asked, running over. He pointed shakily into the house. She jumped and tensed her sword. Eruestan waved his hand and sent a ball of light flying to the ceiling. By now the rest of the group had gathered around the door, all staring silently at the scene that waited for them.

A young man was sprawled on his back on a stone altar, his head staring back at the door. His neck and wrists bore deep cuts, all covered in dried blood.

Completely pale, Alistair walked forward and picked up a shield that was hanging on the back wall. “This is from Redcliffe,” he said. “This was one of Arl Eamon’s men.”

“What are they doing here?” Wynne whispered in horror. “We need to find Genitivi as soon as possible.”

“Wait a second,” Leliana said sharply. “Do you hear that?”

They stood in silence for a moment. Slowly, they started to hear a soft chanting coming from the village chantry. “I think we found them,” Eruestan said grimly.

They made their way to the chantry, the chanting growing louder and louder the closer they drew. Leliana lead them over to a window and gently crouched down against the glass. Pulling a knife from his belt, Zevran slowly pried the window open, giving them a view of the room within. Though the light was dim, they could make out a group of people chanting in the middle of the building. “That’s not from the Chant of Light,” Leliana whispered. “And is that…a Revered _Father_?”

Men were forbidden from joining the Chantry; the highest post they could attain was that of Brother of Andraste. All the same, standing in the back of the room was an older man who was clearly leading the village in prayer. “Maker of the skies, earth, and mountains, lend thy ear to thy children!” he cried, raising his hands. “How we love thee, Great Father, how we pray that thou might bless us!”

“Bless us, Great Father, help us to grow,” the village chanted back. Their eyes were closed in reverence, and several of them were tearing at their clothes and hair. A chill went down Eruestan’s back as he watched them wail and sing.

“The priest is staring often at the back corner,” Sten said suddenly. “There’s something back there.”

As he said that, a door in the back corner opened and a young man walked out, carrying a large bowl. He bowed before the chantry’s altar and set the bowl down in front of the priest. As he joined the rest of the village, a group of about ten men stood up in the back and walked forward.

“Maker,” the priest called out, placing his hands in the bowl. Eruestan gasped as he drew them out; they were covered in blood. “As I place the blood of the Outsider on thy sons, grant them protection as they attempt once more thy bride to this world to bring.” He smeared the blood over the face of the first man and continued moving down the line. The first man bowed, then pulled something out of his pocket and placed it in the wall. After a moment, a stone door slid open, revealing a black passage that he disappeared through. His fellows followed suit. After the last man passed through and the door resealed, the priest turned back to the village, raised his arms, and said “Go, brothers and sisters! Find the bodies of the other Outsiders in our village and bring them back for the service of our Maker!”

There was a violent roar as the villagers rushed out of the chantry, their eyes wild. The group pressed themselves against the walls as they ran down towards the town, their howls echoing into the night. “We don’t have much time,” Leliana whispered as the last of them rushed past. “We should have hidden the bodies – it won’t take them long to find them.”

“Well, let us get started, then,” Zevran said, slipping through the chantry doors. The others followed suit, closing the doors behind them before running over to the corner door. Eruestan tried the handle. “It’s locked,” he hissed. “Wynne, Morrigan, help me blast it down.”

“No!” Leliana said, running forward. “They’ll find us right away if the door’s broken! I’ll take care of this.” She snatched one of Zevran’s daggers and pulled out a thin strip of metal from her pocket. She bent down and began working on the lock. Within a minute, the door clicked and slid open.

“W-who’s there?” someone inside groaned. “Not again…”

“Brother Genitivi!” Wynne cried, running forward. Eruestan peered in the darkness at a old man chained to the back wall. He was dressed in rags and covered in dirt, clutching at a horrific cut on his side. “How long have you been here?”

“Enchanter Wynne?” the brother croaked, looking up at her. “Is that you?”

“Brother Genitivi, we don’t have much time,” Eruestan said. Angry shouts were starting to echo outside from the tavern. “Do you know how to get out of here?”

He nodded weakly. “There’s a tunnel in the chantry that leads to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Father Erikur keeps a key in his desk – the only other man to have one is the leader of the Disciples of Andraste, Kolgrim. No one will be able to follow us if we go there.”

“Disciples of Andraste?” Leliana asked, frowning.

“He can explain later,” Eruestan said; the screams outside were getting louder. “Wynne, Morrigan, help me heal his wounds—someone see if you can find a way to break off these chains.” The mages began tending to the scholar’s injuries while Leliana and Zevran worked on unlocking his chains. Meanwhile, Rowena began rummaging through the desk in the room, opening every drawer.

“I can’t find the key,” she said, rifling through stacks of papers. “Are you sure it’s in here?”

“It’s not a normal key,” Genitivi replied, rubbing his newly freed hands. “Look for a stone circle covered in carvings!”

She lifted a scrap of parchment and picked up a stone circle covered in carvings. “Like this?”

Wynne closed her eyes, muttered a final word, and watched in satisfaction as Genitivi’s wound sealed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t heal it completely,” she said, helping him to his feet. “I can look at it again later.”

“I’m just glad you can look at it now,” the scholar replied, clutching her arm.

“The chantry!” someone outside yelled. “Look inside the chantry!”

“Leliana, get those chains unlocked, now!” Rowena said urgently, looking out into the main room of the chantry. “Sten, Alistair, get ready to help carry Genitivi to the door.”

“Don’t…rush…me,” the bard said, focusing with her lock picks.

The shouts were picking up around the chantry. “Leliana!”

“Got it!” Sten crouched down and scooped up the old man, throwing him over his shoulder. Rowena and Cormac ran ahead to the back door in the main hall and placed the stone circle in an indent in the door.

“How does it work?” she asked, pressing it in harder. “Nothing’s happening!”

“Turn it!” Genitivi said. “To the right!”

Rowena began to do so. However, at that moment the door to the chantry burst open, the priest at the head of a violent mob. “There they are!” he shouted, waving a glowing mage’s staff. “Kill the Outsiders!”

That was all he was able to say before Leliana shot an arrow through his chest.

“Rowena, hurry!” she cried, notching back another arrow. The villagers were charging through, tripping over bodies as Leliana shot down another man.

The door clicked and the stone slid open, the key falling into Rowena’s hand. “Go, go!” she yelled, jumping aside. Before entering the tunnel, Eruestan, Morrigan, and Wynne each sent a wave of force flying into the villagers, knocking them back from the entrance. Sten followed them through the door, and then Zevran, Alistair, and Cormac. “Leliana, Rowena, hurry!” Eruestan said, reaching out for both of them

The bard shot one last arrow and went inside. The chantry was now half filled with crazed villagers, all screaming and howling for their blood. Baring her sword, Rowena stepped back into the passage and yanked a lever hanging out the side. There was a great rumbling, but the villagers had already reached the entrance. A man screamed and started to jump through. Then the stone door slid shut, crushing his arm.

The hall went black. They were now in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.


	27. Blood to Ashes

Eruestan snapped his fingers and summoned a ball of light in his hands. The tunnel stretched out before them, vanishing into darkness in the distance. Moss lined the roughly-hewn walls, and drops of water were dripping down on them from the ceiling. The screams from the chantry were still echoing in their ears, making the silence in the tunnel all the more haunting.

“All you all right, Rowena?” Wynne whispered from up front. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head as she sheathed her sword. “No, the door closed in time.”

“We’re safe now,” Brother Genitivi said, sliding off Sten’s back. Rowena glanced him over; he was a short, balding man with heavy jowls and a sharp gaze. His eyes were gleaming in the spell’s light, betraying a youthful spirit hidden under the wrinkles and gray hair.  “Both keys are in the temple now. There’s no way they can open the door.”

“That being said, I say we get moving,” Alistair said, eyeing the wall behind them. “People that crazy have a tendency of breaking through a lot of things.”

They began moving forward down the tunnel. Eruestan’s spell cast a haunting, flickering light against the walls, one that made her look for enemies hiding in the shadows. It was freezing cold inside the tunnel, and their breath floated gently above them in light clouds. Still, the ground underfoot was surprisingly well-paved, and they were able to walk without fear of tripping. “I can’t believe this,” Genitivi murmured. “I’ve dreamt of finding the Temple of Sacred Ashes since I was a boy, and here I am now…”

“They never let you inside?” Leliana asked.

He shook his head. “They’ve held me here for weeks. I must have asked too many questions when I first got here, because they assumed I knew more than they did about the temple. They thought my blood would be a better offering to the Maker, as it carried more knowledge.”

Eruestan perked up slightly. Rowena smirked gently, knowing that despite the circumstances, the elf probably couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement to finally speak to his favorite author. “Who are these people, Brother?” he asked. “How did you find them?”

“As I said, I’ve been interested in the Temple since I was a young boy,” he replied. “All the legends claim that Andraste’s ashes were brought to Ferelden centuries ago by her disciple Havard to hide them from Tevinter. After that, the records fall silent…except for a journal I found buried in the back of a bookshop in Denerim. Whoever wrote it claimed to have stumbled upon a beautiful temple buried in the Frostbacks, something unlike anything she had ever seen. However, before she could explore, she was chased away by a group of angry villagers from a place called Haven, telling her to ‘stay away from Andraste.’ When I read that, I was convinced I’d found the right place. After that, all it took was a quick look at the ancient maps in the Chantry archives and I knew I’d found it.”

“And that was when Arlessa Isolde contacted you?” Rowena asked.

He nodded. “The arl had fallen sick and she had gotten desperate. I’m more interested in the history, of course, but the Urn is known to have incredible healing powers. She offered to pay all my expenses to send me out here – there was no way I could turn it down.”

“And so you came alone to a secret village filled with violent cultists without telling anyone first,” Sten said. “Very wise.”

“It’s how I do things,” Genitivi said stiffly. “I don’t share my discoveries until the last minute, just in case I get something wrong. Besides, it allows me to keep a feeling of adventure about the whole thing.”

“As well as get kidnapped and bled by a group of maniacs for a month,” Zevran noted.

“I admit that my strategy has a few flaws,” the old man said. “I wasn’t quite anticipating the… _fervor_ of the Disciples.”

“Disciples?” Leliana said. “What kind of disciples of Andraste are they? They’re certainly not like any Andrastians I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know much more than you,” he replied. “I was locked up in that cell for so long, I never really got to understand how they worked. From what I did learn, though, they consider themselves the descendants of Havard and therefore the purest worshippers of our Lady.” He paused. “Their relationship with blood is…unique. They seem to think it will be able to protect them from harm…and that it will reunite them with Andraste.”

“They think Andraste will return from the dead?” Wynne asked.

“Has returned,” he corrected. “They think she has long since returned, and that at the moment she represents a terrible power of destruction.”

The group fell silent, pondering this. Surprisingly, Rowena suddenly felt uneasy. She was no more religious than anyone else in Ferelden, but all this talk about Andraste sent a shiver down her spine. Whoever these people were, they had to be insane, didn’t they?

 The tunnel began to incline, growing colder and colder as they trekked higher and higher up the slope. Then, the tunnel ended abruptly in front of a second stone door. “Use the key again,” Genitivi whispered, his face pale. Rowena stepped forward, placed the stone in the indent, and turned it to the right.

The door opened into a massive darkness, barely penetrated by Eruestan’s ball of light. As they stepped through the doors, torches lining the walls burst into flame without warning, illuminating the room they had just entered. Rowena gasped, arching her head back to look around the chamber. It was the largest room she had ever been in. It looked more like a massive cave, with a ceiling was so high it disappeared into darkness. Towering pillars divided the room into three rows, casting long shadows down the stone floors. Giant, exquisite murals depicting the life of Andraste lined the walls and danced in the flickering torchlight. The temple’s beauty took her breath away.

Tears were streaming down Genitivi’s face. “It’s more than I could have ever imagined,” he said, his voice echoing off the walls. “These carvings alone…they tell us more about the life of our Lady Savior than the entire Chant of Light itself…”

“It’s very impressive,” Eruestan admitted, looking up into the shadows overhead. “It’s incredible that something like this has been hidden for so long.”

“It looks like the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux,” Leliana whispered, fervently drawing the Circle of Sacred Flame on her forehead. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful place…”

Rowena agreed with her. Still, the long shadows were making her wary; she drew her sword and peered into the darkness. “Stay on your guard,” she said, trying to find enemies hidden in the temple. “All we need is for one of those assholes to spring out of the shadows swinging an axe around.”

“Speaking as an expert in ambushes myself, something tells me these men are not the kind to wait patiently for enemies to arrive,” Zevran said. “Though generally it is better to be prepared for axe swings, that is true.”

The group began to advance slowly into the darkness, their weapons drawn against the shadows. Brother Genitivi, however, continued staring at the first panel of murals. “Brother Genitivi?” Rowena asked. “We’re moving forward now.”

“Not yet,” he said, distracted. “These markings…I’ve never seen anything like them. I need to stay here and examine them.”

The group exchanged glances. “I don’t know if you should stay here alone, Genitivi,” Wynne said gently. “Those men are still somewhere in this temple.”

He shrugged, still staring at the murals. “I’ll only slow you down in a fight, and I’ve just as much chances of dying with you as I do by myself.”

“Quite confident for a man who just spent the past month chained to a wall,” Morrigan muttered.

“I know the risks of what I’m doing,” Genitivi said. “The pursuit of knowledge is far nobler than my poor life.”

Zevran shrugged. “At least he’s honest.”

“Well, be careful,” Rowena said, frowning. There was nothing quite as hard to understand as a stubborn old scholar. “And here, take Cormac as protection.” The hound looked back at her and whined, but walked over to the brother’s side. “Hopefully we’ll confront the Disciples before they can get to you.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Genitivi said. He scratched the dog’s head, then turned back to the carvings. “Fascinating…Our Lady is usually portrayed with much smaller breasts.”

“I want to stay with this brother!” Zevran said, face lighting up. Eruestan sighed and grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the back of the temple. “Hey! Why not? I am finally expressing an interest in religion!”

Leliana snorted. “If you’re religious, then I’m the Divine.”

Zevran looked over at her and winked. “Divine is but one of the many words one could use to describe you, _bellissima_.”

She tutted. “Oh, shut up. Leave it to a Crow to talk through a mission.”

“Well, we certainly aren’t called the Antivan Mutes.” They started walking deeper into the giant temple, their steps echoing in the emptiness surrounding them. “Though I have to say, was that a barb from a representative of the Orlesian bards?”

“I’m not a bard any more, Zevran,” Leliana said, eyeing the shadows. “Although I will say that there are some Orlesians who feel that the Crows lack a certain…finesse…”

“And are you among those Orlesians?” Zevran asked, winking.

She smirked. “You’re an assassin. I’m a spy. Apples to oranges.”

“Both poisoned, I’m afraid.”

“If you both insist on being clever, we should make tea,” Morrigan said. “Otherwise, I suggest you remain silent.”

“Oh, please, there’s no one here,” Zevran said dismissively. “Jealousy doesn’t become you, my beautiful witch friend.”

Morrigan laughed. “Jealous of a fanatic and a flounce? You flatter yourself.”

“Flounce?” Zevran said. “Why, Morrigan, I had no idea you fancied me!”

They were reaching the back of the room. “All right, so maybe the temple is empty,” Rowena said. “If that’s the case, though, where are they?”

Eruestan started to say something, then stopped and frowned. “Do you all hear something?”

A low whistling was coming from a hallway that led out of the left wall. The group moved forward warily, their weapons tense. The air grew colder the farther they walked, as if a breeze was blowing in from the mountains. Reaching the back wall, they soon realized that they were standing in front of a giant hole carved in the temple wall that led out onto the mountaintop. “Look,” Zevran said, pointing out into the night. There were a small group of lights shining in the distance.

They started walking towards the lights. As they drew nearer, they realized that the lights were torches that had been implanted in the ground around an ancient archway built around a cave in the mountain in front of them. “These have to belong to them,” Leliana said. “But where are they?”

“Greetings, Outsiders,” someone said behind them. They spun around to see the Disciples walking up towards them, their faces covered in blood. “The light of Andraste shines upon you.”

Rowena brandished her sword, ready for them to attack. “Stay back!”

“Calm thy blade, maiden,” the leader said. He was a tall, muscled man with a tangled beard that was caked in blood. His eyes flashed dangerously in the torchlight, gleaming with the zeal of a fanatic. Still, his blade remained in his sheath, and he and the others approached them with their hands raised. “I am Kolgrim, and we Disciples mean you no harm.”

“Drop the act,” Eruestan snapped, walking up beside her. He flexed his hand and summoned a small ball of flame. “We’ve seen what you’ve been doing in Haven.”

“Then you know of our mission,” Kolgrim said. “You know of our devotion to our Lady Andraste. You also know that if we did not think you us could help, we would not hold back from attacking.”

“What do you mean, help you?” Alistair said. “Why would we help you?”

Kolgrim grinned slowly, his teeth slightly stained with blood. “Why, for the noblest of causes! To help bring our Lady back to this earth!”

The group exchanged a look. “You’re insane,” Rowena said, unnerved in spite of herself. “Andraste’s dead.”

“Andraste _was_ dead,” he said. “Now, however, she is very much alive. I have seen her, and she is beautiful.” He paused. “And yet she is deadly as well. Her return is not yet complete.”

“You’re nuts!” Alistair said. “Absolutely nuts!”

“Alistair, wait,” Eruestan said sharply. “Let’s try and avoid a fight.” He turned back to Kolgrim and narrowed his eyes. “What do you need us to do?”

Kolgrim looked past him at the archway. “Through that passage lieth the resting place of Our Lady’s ashes. This is what keeps her locked in her savage form. There is a way to break the power these ashes hold, though.” He pulled a small vial from his cloak. “This is blood, magicked to defile the Urn. Once poured inside, Our Lady’s seal will be broken and her glory restored.”

“But you haven’t done it yet,” Eruestan said. “Why?”

“The Urn is protected,” Kolgrim said. “There is a Guardian who blocks the door and knows what we intend to do. No matter what we try, we cannot get past him. You, however, are new. You can slip past him, and you can defile the ashes.”

“ _What_?” Leliana hissed. “Absolutely not.”

“Not now, Leliana,” Eruestan said. Rowena looked over at him sharply, but the elf kept staring at Kolgrim. “What do we get out of this?”

“Our friendship,” Kolgrim said calmly. Eruestan raised an eyebrow. “Is that not enough? Very well. Do this for us, and we shall teach thy friends how to unlock the strength hidden in their blood.”

“You mean blood magic?” Alistair growled.

“There is no magic involved,” Kolgrim said, shaking his head. “We are not priests. Still, we men of Haven are warriors of no small caliber, a gift we draw from the power of blood. Poison the ashes, and this gift is yours.”

“Done,” Eruestan said firmly.

“Eruestan!” Rowena stared at him in horror. Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne had all started as well, looking at him as if he had lost his mind.

“I don’t want a fight,” he said, crossing his arms. “And last time I checked, I was the one who made the decisions.”

Rowena snorted in disbelief. Then she saw the look in his eyes. She stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Fine,” she said, turning back to Kolgrim. “We agree.”

“No, we don’t! I can’t belie—”

“ _Aies confiance en nous, Léliana_ ,” Rowena said, still staring at the Disciples. The bard stopped mid-sentence and bit her lip.

“What hast thou said?” Kolgrim said sharply. “I know not this tongue.”

“It’s Orlesian,” Rowena said calmly. “The language of the Lowland Chantry.”

Kolgrim did not seem impressed. “Cease this at once. This Lowlander tongue is displeasing to us.”

“You won’t hear it anymore,” Eruestan said. “We’ll do it – just let us pass without any trouble.”

“Very well.” Kolgrim handed the vial to him and bowed in gratitude. “Make haste, Wardens. The earth yearns for its Lady.”

“We will.” All the Disciples bowed, their blood-smeared faces still turned up towards them. Then they turned around and disappeared once more into the night.

“What are you planning?” Leliana whispered, turning back to the arch. “You aren’t seriously considering defiling the Sacred Ashes, are you?”

“Of course not,” Eruestan said. “The Ashes probably aren’t even here – these people are lunatics, I bet they saw a large rock in there and assumed it was some sort of guardian.”

“So what are we going to tell them afterwards?” Alistair asked.

“That we poured the blood in the Ashes,” he said, pocketing the vial. “They’ll start crying in joy, we’ll see if there’s anything to this ‘gift’, and then we’ll get out of here in one piece.”

“Oh,” he said, almost disappointed. “That’s sneaky.”

“Would you rather dump tainted blood on Andraste’s remains?” Rowena asked.

“Well, no,” he said. “It’d just be nobler to fight, I guess.”

“Nobility won’t keep us alive,” Eruestan said. Morrigan snorted. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I am surprised that I wholly agree with one of your decisions, that’s all.”

“First time for everything,” Rowena said.

Eruestan rolled his eyes and walked through the arch. “Come on, let’s just get this over with, I want to get…back…”

He stopped midsentence. They were not alone in the cave.


	28. The Pilgrim's Path

There was a man standing at the other end of the cave, blocking another ancient stone archway. He was rather young, wearing a finely-crafted suit of armor and carrying a gleaming broadsword. His eyes were closed, as if in deep prayer. At first Eruestan was sure he was a Disciple. However, he quickly realized that his face was not covered in blood.

Rowena took a step forward, her sword pointed at him. “Who are you?” she yelled. “What are you doing here?”

The man’s eyes flew open, and a chill went down Eruestan’s spine. They were glowing white, so bright that even at the other end of the cave Eruestan felt he needed to look away. “I am the Guardian of the Sacred Ashes,” he said, his voice echoing off the cave’s walls. “I have protected the remains of Our Lady Savior for one thousand years, and I shall keep guarding them for one thousand more.”

Rowena’s sword faltered. “Oh! Well, uh, great!”

The hairs on Eruestan’s neck had started to stand up. Did the Urn actually lie within the cave? “What do you mean, a thousand years?” he whispered. “That’s impossible.”

“Anything is possible through Our Lady Andraste,” the Guardian said.

Leliana quickly drew the Circle of Sacred Flame on her forehead, her eyes wide. Behind her, Morrigan and Sten exchanged glances and sighed.

“Approach, pilgrims,” the Guardian said. “Tell me, do you come to pay homage to Andraste?”

For a moment, Eruestan was about to lie. However, the Guardian’s eyes grew brighter the closer they drew to him, and he suddenly had a feeling that the man would see through any attempts at duplicity. “Yes and no,” he said, heart pounding. “We’ve also come to heal a very sick man – we thought the Ashes might help him.”

“Honesty was a favored trait of Andraste,” the Guardian said, bowing his head. “She told me so herself days before she was betrayed and sent to Minrathous.”

Leliana drew in her breath sharply. “You knew Andraste?”

“I did,” the Guardian said. “She was our friend, mother, leader, and savior; she saw our pain and led us to—”

“What color was her hair?” Leliana interrupted, eyes gleaming.

The Guardian stared at her. “I’m sorry?”

Leliana nodded. “Everyone always portrays her as blonde; was she?”

He scratched his chin. “Well, I’d say it was more red, actually…”

“I knew it,” Leliana whispered.

“Ok, we’re getting off track here,” Rowena said, frowning. Her face was as pale as Eruestan’s, and he could tell that her grip on her sword was tighter than usual. “Will we be able to take the Ashes with us?”

“You may,” the Guardian said, “though you will only need a handful to heal the man who needs them. Andraste’s life was dedicated to the service of others – it would give her great pleasure to know that she could help the world even after her death. First, however, you must release the terrible burdens that you carry with you.”

Eruestan was glad he hadn’t tried lying to the Guardian. “You’re right,” he said. “The Disciples gave us this vial of blood to taint the Ashes. I think you’ll know what to do with it better than we would.”

The Guardian blinked and took the vial. “Right…well, again, I thank you for your honesty,” he said. “In that same spirit, however, I must say that I was actually speaking of more…personal burdens.”

“Oh!” Eruestan frowned. “Like what?”

The Guardian stepped aside, unblocking the archway. “A series of obstacles waits for you beyond this portal. They will test your character – all of your characters, to see if you are worthy to approach the final resting place of Lady Andraste.”

“We might want to sit this one out,” Zevran muttered to Morrigan.

“That is not an option, I’m afraid,” the Guardian said. “Your path was decided from the moment you entered this cavern. You must continue, or be killed.”

“My friend, you should really put that on a sign out front.”

“That’s fine,” Eruestan said, shooting Zevran a look. The assassin shrugged back and crossed his arms. “We’ll do it.”

“Very well,” the Guardian said. A keening sound echoed through the caves, as though some ancient spell had been ripped apart. “You may enter now – but be warned, pilgrims. Weapons and spells may prove useless within.”

“We’ll see about that,” Rowena muttered. The group walked through the arch into a poorly lit corridor. The walls were lined with intricate carvings, inlaid with rusted copper and bronze. They advanced slowly, waiting for whatever challenge was hidden in the Gauntlet. Suddenly, three balls of light appeared in the air in front of them. They froze for a moment, afraid to draw any closer. They, the lights began to spark and grow, morphing into humanlike shapes.

“Careful!” Eruestan said, stepping forward. “We don’t know what these will… _Jowan_?”

The central sphere had transformed into his former friend, as lifelike as if the mage himself was standing in front of him. For a moment, Eruestan wondered if he had lost his mind. “Hello, Eruestan,” Jowan said, half-smiling. “We keep meeting in the strangest places.”

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. “You’re not Jowan,” he said, closing his eyes. “This isn’t real – it won’t work again!”

“This isn’t the Fade, Eruestan,” Jowan said. “There are no demons here to confuse you. I just want to ask you a question.”

He looked back to the others helplessly. “I don’t…I…” He took a deep breath and looked back at Jowan. “What’s your question?”

Jowan tilted his head. “Do you regret helping me?”

He froze. “What?”

“You were my best friend – my only friend – and yet I betrayed you,” Jowan said, lowering his gaze. “I was a maleficar, and I tricked you into releasing me into the world. Still, at the same time, if you hadn’t helped me, I would have suffered a terrible fate. Do you regret helping me?”

“Of course I do!” Eruestan spluttered, pulse rising. “You’re a blood mage, you caused all that suffering in Redcliffe, I…”

He stopped midsentence. The other spheres of light had morphed as well. Both of them were also Jowan – one was Jowan the Maleficar. Blood was smeared across his face and his clothes, and there was a cold, cruel look in his eyes. The other Jowan, however, was far more terrible. His face was blank, his eyes dull, and a bright sunburst had been branded on his forehead…

“I don’t know,” he said, half in shock. “You may have been a blood mage, but if I had let you become a Tranquil…I don’t know, Jowan. Either way would have been horrible.”

“Thank you, Eruestan,” Jowan said. “Be at peace.”

As Jowan began to change, Eruestan lowered his head. The vision’s question shook him to the core. Any concerns for himself, however, ended when he saw who Jowan had become.

“Pup,” Bryce Cousland said, reaching out to his daughter. “I am so sorry.”

“You’ve been so strong, darling,” Teyrna Eleanor said, a restraining hand on his shoulder. “We miss you so much.”

“A Grey Warden now, huh?” Fergus said. “Always have to one-up me, don’t you?”

Rowena’s face had gone pale. “This isn’t fair,” she murmured. “What do you want from me?”

“You hold great pain in your heart, Pup,” Bryce said. “You must let it go.”

“Don’t let our deaths ruin your life,” Eleanor said. “You have a horrible task before you, let this venom go…”

“I should have done more,” she whispered, staring down at the floor. “I should have fought harder at the castle, I should have fought harder to find Fergus…”

“There was nothing you could do, Wena,” Fergus said. “Howe had too many men, and I was lost in the Wilds.”

“Let your hate go, Pup,” Bryce pleaded. “It can only lead to more pain and suffering.”

She was silent for a long moment, arms wrapped around her chest. Eruestan realized that he was holding his breath. “No,” she said finally. “I can’t. I won’t. Howe _will_ pay for what he’s done.”

The Couslands looked at each other sadly. “Don’t let this consume you, Pup,” Eleanor said, closing her eyes. “Live, and forget…”

“Mam, I—” Rowena stopped; her family had disappeared.

The corridor was silent for a moment. Eruestan reached out a hand to her. “Rowena, I’m so…”

She shook her head and quickly wiped her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said roughly. “Really.”

The spheres were already transforming. Suddenly Duncan, Arl Eamon, and a tall blond man were standing in front of them. “Alistair,” they all said together.

“Oh no,” the knight whispered.

“You feel as though you’ve failed us,” Duncan said. “Why?”

“I…it is, though,” Alistair said. He had gone completely pale. “Duncan, I let you die on the battlefield. If you had lived…”

“He didn’t,” Arl Eamon said. “Duncan knew the risks that being a Warden brings. What is important is that you survived to carry on his fight.”

“But I let you down, too,” Alistair replied. “You showed me nothing but kindness, and I spat on it. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the blond man said. “You were a lost child due to the mistakes of your parents. It is because of me that you were ever put in that situation.”

Eruestan realized with a start that the blond man was King Maric. Alistair remained silent.

“You were not a failure, Alistair,” the king said softly. “You were hidden away, true, but it was not your fault.”

“None of this was,” Duncan said. “Forget your guilt. Look towards the future.”

“I…I will,” he said, bowing his head. “Thank you.”

The three bowed as well. Then, they morphed back into one single sphere that shrunk and began to take the form of an old woman. “Morrigan…” Flemeth began to croak.

“Leave me be, spirits,” Morrigan said sharply, crossing her arms. “I won’t take part in any of your games.”

For a second Eruestan was afraid of what it would say in response. The sphere, however, merely split in thirds and took the form of three priestesses. “Sister Leliana, what are you doing here?” the Revered Mother from Lothering said. “Why have you left the Chantry?”

Leliana cleared her throat. “I came to serve the Maker…”

“At his own calling?” a second priestess said. “Are you really so arrogant as to believe that the Maker speaks to you directly?”

“It’s not arrogance!” she gasped, standing up straighter. “The Maker came to me in a dream! He told me to fight against the darkness – he hasn’t abandoned us!”

“Do you really believe that?” the third priestess asked. “Or are you desperately trying to find sense in a world without logic? Have you given yourself meaning and purpose when the rest of the world wouldn’t?”

“How dare you!” she snapped, eyes flashing. “I’m doing good in this world, you have no right to—”

“The last person to speak to the Maker was Andraste herself,” Mother Agnes said. “Do you really put yourself on her level?”

Eruestan could see the fire leave Leliana’s eyes. “I…I know what I believe,” she said quietly, her hands shaking. “That’s all I can say.”

The priestesses bowed and turned into Qunari. “Sten,” they said. “You carry a terrible guilt and shame in your heart.”

“I do,” Sten said, unmoved. “I have lost my sword, my command, and my honor. How could I feel otherwise? But don’t waste your time with me. The Qun guides me, not your Andraste.”

The Qunari bowed and turned into three old enchanters Eruestan didn’t recognize. “Wynne,” the first croaked. “Though you now live, your life relies on the very thing we have taught you to hate. How can you justify your survival, when it makes you a monster among men?”

Eruestan stared sharply at Wynne. She sighed, but shook her head. “I am not comfortable with this situation,” she said. “But I trust the spirit giving me life.”

“How can you?” a second enchanter asked. “How can you let something so profane happen?”

She smirked. “What’s my alternative? If I die, I’m useless to the world. This way, I can help as many as I can before my time comes.”

“And if the spirit consumes you first?” the third mage said.

“Then I will be put down.” Her voice was harder now. “I know these risks, spirits – but I know my own strength, too.”

Eruestan felt a pang of guilt as the spheres regrouped; perhaps he had judged her too harshly. Before he could reflect on it, the sphere took the form of a beautiful young elven woman. “Zevran,” she began.

“How do you know about her?” he said. His words were sharp and harsh, more serious than Eruestan had ever heard him before. “.”

“Zevran, _mio tresoro_ …”

“The answer is yes,” he said, screwing his eyes shut and looking away. “Yes, I regret her death, yes, I regret what I did, now can we please move on?”

There was another keening sound as the spheres disappeared. A door at the other end of the hallway opened by itself, sending a burst of cool air rushing down the corridor. Eruestan looked back at Zevran, who looked like someone had punched him. “Are you all right?”

“The Guardian was right about these obstacles,” he replied, color returning to his face. “Let us hope this Urn lies in the room beyond.”

 “I’ll second that,” Leliana snapped, walking forward. “What sort of place is this? How dare they say those things about us? It’s absolutely insulting!”

“Someone’s a bit touchy,” Alistair said, grinning. Leliana sent him a death glare and stormed forward through the open door.

They followed her into a large room lined with mirrors. Though there were no windows or lanterns, the whole chamber was somehow filled with light. “What do you think this obstacle is, makeovers?” Alistair asked.

“Oh, I hope so!” Leliana gasped, her mood brightening. “I’d excel at that!”

Eruestan smiled and looked into the mirrors. It had been a long time since he had last seen his reflection, and for a moment he was stunned by the changes he saw. Not only was he taller and more muscled, but his hair had gotten long and unkempt, and his face was smeared with blood and dirt. He peered in closely to get a better look at himself. To his shock, however, his reflection began walking towards him. “Um, guys?” he said slowly, questioning his sanity even further. “I think my reflection is moving.”

“Of course it is,” Rowena sighed, looking over. She paused and frowned. “I think all of ours are?”

She was right. All of their reflections had started to push against the glass of the mirrors, pressing their palms against the surface. “Hm. I need a haircut,” Zevran said.

“I can help with that later,” Leliana said, scanning the mirrors. “What on earth is this about, though? Is it supposed to be a metaphor? Do you think we’re going to ask ourselves more questions?”  

“That’s a bit too deep for me,” Alistair said, tilting his head at his own reflection. “Do I really look this dumb to the rest of you?”

“Yes,” Sten said, drawing his sword. “But I don’t think these reflections have come to chat with us.”

Eruestan frowned. Before anyone could answer him, the glass of the mirrors began to warp and ripple, and suddenly their reflections began to step out into the room. He yelped and took a step back. The Other Eruestan was staring at him coldly, its lips pulled back into a snarl. For a moment, the two groups stood still, eyeing each other suspiciously. Then, the Other Rowena drew its sword, the sound of its sheath echoing like shattered glass.

Rowena grimaced and drew her own blade. “I know what that means,” she spat. “Get ready!”

She had barely finished her sentence when her reflection roared and charged at her, its sword flying through the air.

Eruestan waved his hands, ready to throw up a barrier between the groups of fighters. Before he could cast his spell, however, something flew past his cheek and shattered on the wall behind him. Shocked, he looked to see the Other Eruestan draw his hand back again, summoning a cloud of frost to throw another ice spike at him. He quickly flexed his hand and cast a small magical shield in front of himself and Alistair. A series of ice spikes smashed to pieces against it, tinkling gently to the ground. Snarling, he thrust out his arms and sent his barrier slamming forward towards his reflection. The Other Eruestan was blasted off its feet and thrown to the back of the chamber.

Panting, Eruestan took a moment to look at the others. Alistair was struggling to hold off his own reflection, who was attacking him with powerful, aggressive blows. Eruestan moved to help him, but suddenly the Other Eruestan was back on its feet and sending a cone of fire flying at him. “ _Fluo_!” Eruestan cried without thinking, waving his hands around himself. The fire swirled in a circle around him. Then, in a burst of inspiration, he thrust out with his arm and set Alistair’s reflection aflame. To his surprise, instead of shrieking or writhing in pain, the reflection instantly shattered into pieces.

“Thanks,” Alistair gasped, wiping his forehead. “Turns out I’m a better fighter than I thought I was!”

“Anytime!” Eruestan said. “Now help me kill myself!”

He nodded and looked back at his own reflection, who hadn’t yet realized how the tables were turning. It waved its hands, and Eruestan barely had time to throw up a barrier around the two of them before it sent a wave of cold air flying at them. A block of frost formed on the magical shield, freezing solid in an instant. Muttering a mantra under his breath, Alistair stepped out from behind the glowing wall and charged at the Other Eruestan. The reflection didn’t seem to notice him, instead throwing spells at Eruestan and his shield. Alistair’s sword flew through the air, and Eruestan watched with a strange sense of detachment as his decapitated head flew through the air and shattered into thousands of pieces.

“I’m going after the other mages!” Alistair yelled, brandishing his sword. “Help the others!” Eruestan nodded and looked at the rest of the room. Though the fighting was fierce, he realized that the reflections had all the skills of his companions with none of their sense of strategy. They only seemed intent on attacking their real-life counterparts, ignoring everyone else. In all fairness, though, this strategy seemed to be working. Wynne and Morrigan had been backed into a corner by their reflections, who were pummeling their defenses with balls of fire and stone. Fierce duels were raging in the other half of the room, and Eruestan had no clear idea of who held the upper hand. He moved to help Rowena, then instantly thought better of it. The two Rowenas were moving so quickly that he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t accidentally hit his friend. He held back for a moment and watched them in awe. Their fight was mesmerizing; he had never viewed swordplay as an art before, yet what was playing out in front of him could only be described as a dance.

Something flew past his face, breaking him out of his trance. A throwing knife crashed into the stone behind him and clattered to his feet. “ _Bastardo_!” Zevran grunted, struggling a few feet away. “You are making me look bad! I have much better aim than that!”

Leliana snorted, eyes locked on her counterpart. “Why do I doubt that, Zevran?” Without warning, she flipped over her double and tried to swipe at her side. The reflection turned to parry her blow; this, however, left its other flank open, which gave Zevran the chance to lunge forward and stab the reflection in the side, making it shatter into pieces.

“What were you saying, my Orlesian beauty?” he asked smugly. His own double drew back to strike with his blade. Leliana rolled her eyes and flicked a small knife through its head. “ _Brosca!_ ” The assassin took a step back as the reflection crashed to pieces. “My friend, you threw that as if you truly meant it.”

“Just don’t test your luck in the future!” She left to help Rowena. On the other side of the room, Alistair had managed to help turn the tables for Wynne and Morrigan. Sten had locked swords with his reflection, both trying to force the other to his knees. Thinking quickly, Eruestan froze the reflection in ice, which gave the Qunari the advantage he needed to slice it in half. With Leliana’s help, Rowena cut her reflection’s  leg. The Other Rowena staggered, giving her all the time she needed to stab it through the stomach.

As her reflection shattered to pieces, a gust of wind picked up in the chamber. Suddenly, all the mirrors at the room’s end crashed to pieces, revealing a cavern lying beyond.

“Maker’s _breath_!” Alistair said. “No wonder no one’s seen the Urn in a thousand years!”

“That was incredible!” Rowena said, eyes shining. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to fight myself?”

“You terrify me,” Eruestan said, stepping through the shattered mirrors. “Now let’s see what waiting for us here.”

“Hey, nothing can be as bad as that, can it?” Alistair asked, following him.

The instant they walked into the next room, a wall of fire sprung up in front of them. They jumped back, but the passage to the chamber of mirrors had vanished, replaced by rugged cavern walls.

“Andraste’s ass!” Alistair yelled over the crackling of the flames. The heat flushed against their faces, making them turn their heads. “I _need_ to stop saying things like that!”

“I’ll handle this,” Eruestan yelled back, taking a step forward. There was a small altar in the middle of the room that he stepped around to face the flames. Closing his eyes, he concentrated his power, feeling a chill build in his stomach. As his breath began to fog, he thrust out his hands and shouted, “ _Confuto_!”

Nothing happened.

“Impressive,” Sten shouted. The flames began to roar, seeming to grow even taller after Eruestan’s efforts.

“Er…give me a minute!” He furrowed his eyebrows and tried again, although his energy was already greatly drained. His next spell was weaker and only made the fire taller. “I…I don’t think my magic’s working here!” he yelled, trying to ignore the shaking in his knees.

“Well, what are we supposed to do, then?” Rowena yelled back, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“Sten could try to toss us over?” Alistair offered. The Qunari glared at him. “That was a joke, Sten!”

“There has to be _some_ sort of hint!” Leliana said, leaning back on the altar. “Wait, why is this even here?” She bent down and peered at it. “There’s Tevinter writing on this!”

Alistair leaned in closer and squinted. “Hm…so, like, this first part is talking about throwing stuff away…something about bathing in animals? Something something slaves…and then eating the stomach of the Maker?”

“There’s a translation in Fereldan over here!” Rowena shouted, looking at the foot of the pedestal. “‘Cast away your worldly trappings and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar, be born anew in the Maker’s sight.’”

“Oh.” Alistair looked embarrassed. “Tevene was never my strong point.”

“What does that mean, though?” Wynne asked, frowning. “What worldly trappings do we need to cast away?”

The group reflected for a moment. Then, Morrigan sighed and started to undo the lacing on her shirt.

“Morrigan, my beauty, you are brilliant,” Zevran said, instantly working on his armor straps as well. “As we say in Antiva, ‘when in doubt, have an orgy.’”

“So much as look at me, Zevran, and I shall set you on fire myself,” Morrigan said. “However, ‘tis obvious what this challenge requires of us. We are to put our faith in your Maker, shed our clothes, and plunge ourselves into the flames.”

“That sounds like a lot of really confusing nightmares I’ve had,” Alistair muttered.

Eruestan’s pulse had picked up. “I don’t know, Morrigan,” he said, eyeing the flames. “If you’re wrong…”

She tsked impatiently. “Leliana, you are religious, are you not?” The bard nodded. “Tell me, then, how was your Andraste ‘born anew in the Maker’s sight’?”

“Through the flames at Minrathous…” Leliana said slowly. “No, you must be right, Morrigan. How on earth did you know that, though?”

“I went to a chanting in Lothering once,” she replied. “That was the topic at hand. All drivel, of course, but I believe it will help us here.”

Leliana sighed and began to unbuckle her armor as well. “Clothes off, everyone.”

Zevran was naked within five seconds. “I have been waiting for days for someone to say that.”

Eruestan tried his hardest not to peek at the assassin’s body. Zevran, however, was clearly not shy, and from a quick glimpse he saw toned muscles highlighted by intricate tattoos running the length of his torso. Secretly pleased, he quickly pulled off his tunic. His own body was nothing to be ashamed of – or so he thought. After seeing Sten’s muscles, however, he suddenly felt very feeble by comparison.

“Why, we are all masterpieces!” Zevran cried. “Barring Morrigan, of course, who has forbade me look at her, but I can imagine that she too is as well-built as the rest of you!”

“Hey, Zevran?” Alistair said, shielding his more sensitive areas from view. “Let’s maybe apply the ‘no-looking’ rule to everyone, ok?”

“As you wish – though it is a shame to not stare at a work of art, is it not?”

“But what about our weapons?” Rowena said suddenly, staring at the Cousland sword and shield lying at her feet. “We’ll be able to get them back, right?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Leliana said. “We’ll just have to put our trust in the Maker.”

“Trust in the Maker my ass!” Rowena snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “My family has owned these standards for ages, I’m not going to abandon them in the middle of some cave in the Frostbacks!”

“Yeah, good point!” Alistair said. “We’re on top of a mountain, how are we getting out of here with no clothes on?”

“Everyone, stop worrying!” Leliana said. “This is a test of faith in the Maker!”

“And we’re doing it with a Qunari, a witch, and Zevran,” Alistair said. “We’re about to burn to death, aren’t we?”

“‘Twould put an end to all this nonsense, at least,” Morrigan muttered.

“Leliana’s right, everyone,” Wynne said calmly. She looked just as confident nude as she did fully clothed. “There’s nowhere to go except forward, all we can do now is hope that it will work out for the best.”

Rowena did not look pleased. Still, she stepped over her sword and shield and approached the flames. The group stared at the wall of fire, their bodies flushed with heat. “Do you think this will hurt?” Alistair asked, face pale.

Eruestan would have been very surprised if that weren’t the case. “The best thing to do is to charge forward,” he said, ignoring the sweat pouring down his face. “Link arms, everyone, and no matter what happens, just keep walking.” They all crossed arms, and he found himself between Rowena and Zevran. The assassin’s arm was strong and gentle, and amazingly for a moment Eruestan was more worried about his own body’s reactions than the fire in front of them. Quickly looking ahead, he took a deep breath and began to walk forward.

From the first step, the heat became oppressive, and he had to shy his face away from the flames. All of sudden the idea seemed extremely stupid. Throw themselves into the fire? They would burn, becoming nothing more than charred flesh on a cave floor. Somehow, they were still moving forward. He wanted to draw back, but Rowena’s arm gripped his tighter, encouraging him to continue. They had to be close to the flames now – the heat was unbearable, like hot wax poured on his body, and he tried to jerk away…

He was on fire and he had to scream. His mind was only pain, pure, horrible pain, pain he had never before felt and that he would never again feel. At his side, Rowena and Zevran broke apart, writhing horribly in the flames. He was dead, he was going insane…

And suddenly, it had stopped. He was standing in an entirely different room, once more fully clothed. Already the flames felt like a distant memory, as if they’d happened years ago. The Guardian was standing before them, his eyes glowing.

“Welcome, pilgrims,” he said, bowing his head before them. “You have succeeded where so many before you have failed. You have survived the Gauntlet, and you have gained access to the Urn of Sacred Ash.”

He stepped aside. Behind him stood a remarkably lifelike statue of Andraste. The prophet’s face was carved in exquisite detail, turned towards the sky in adoration of the Maker. In her hands was a small white urn.

Leliana and Alistair fell to their knees in reverence. As for Eruestan, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Even after all the bizarre things they had endured in the caverns, he had not expected to actually find the Urn. It was all too surreal, as if he had stepped into the Black City himself.

Sten, however, was not as impressed. “Very well, we’ve found our rubbish bin. Let’s not waste any more time.”

The Guardian raised an eyebrow. All the same, he pulled a small pouch out from his armor. “This is all you are allowed to take from the Urn,” he said. “More than enough to heal any ailment.”

Eruestan took the pouch gingerly and turned to Alistair and Leliana, who were both busy praying. “Er…I feel like one of you two should do the honors.”

Leliana shook her head, eyes closed. “I am not worthy to touch the ashes of Andraste. I’m fine right here, thank you.”

“Me, too,” Alistair said, wide-eyed. “With my luck I’d probably knock it over.”

“Er, yes, I would suggest refraining from spilling Our Lady’s remains all over the floor,” the Guardian said.

Eruestan approached the Urn and placed his hand inside, surprised to feel how fine the ashes were. He could feel his energy return to him as he touched them, fully renewed by the time he had filled the pouch. At that moment he knew he was touching the remains of Andraste, and his knees went weak. Somehow, the room was glowing white.

“Go in the Maker’s peace, pilgrims,” the Guardian’s voice echoed off the walls as Eruestan closed his eyes from the blinding light. “Carry the fire of Andraste in your hearts.”

They were standing back in the first cavern. The Guardian and the archway leading to the Urn were nowhere to be seen.

“Did that just happen?” Rowena whispered, her face white.

Eruestan grasped the leather pouch tightly in his hand. “That was unbelievable,” he breathed. “We actually found the Urn of Sacred Ashes.”

“That, or a place of extremely high magical activity,” Wynne said in awe. “Still very impressive, though.”

“I shall remember this day for the rest of my life,” Leliana murmured fervently, making the Circle of Sacred Flame on her forehead. “But let’s hurry back to Redcliffe. Andraste wouldn’t want us to waste time now that we’ve got what we need.”

“And how would you know that?” Morrigan yawned, looking bored. “Did the Maker reveal that to you in your vision, too?”

“Of course he didn’t,” Leliana said with a frown as they began to make their way to the exit. It was already morning, and sunlight was streaming in from the cave entrance. “Andraste was just everything virtuous and holy, everyone knows that.”

Morrigan scoffed. “And yet she was the leader of a vicious barbarian army that lay Tevinter to ruin. A strange woman at least.”

“She was guided by the Maker!”

“A killer led by religion is a killer nonetheless,” Morrigan pointed out. “Your Savior was a heartless warlord who was just as delusion as you are.”

“Ladies, please,” Zevran said, cutting off Leliana’s outraged response. “You are forgetting the key component of any discussion of the merits of Our Lady – her figure.”

“Zevran,” Leliana hissed through clenched teeth, “I swear by the Maker that if you so much as _think_ about bringing up Andraste’s bosom I will personally—”

“Um, everyone?” Rowena said suddenly, voice oddly strained. “You might want to focus your attention up front for a moment.”

Eruestan looked forward and felt his heart drop. The Disciples of Andraste were standing in front of the cave entrance, waiting in the early morning light.

“Oh,” Alistair said, blinking. “I forgot about these guys.”

“Outsiders,” Kolgrim called from the front, “is your task complete?”

Eruestan and Rowena glanced at each other. “It is,” she called back. “The Urn is defiled!”

Murmurs of excitement rippled through the Disciples. “My brethren!” Kolgrim gasped, his bloodied face lit up with joy. “At long last our glorious mission is fulfilled! At long last we can revel in the beauty of Our Lady’s face! At long last, the Maker hath returned his Bride to us!”

The other Disciples fell to their knees in prayer, some so overjoyed they had burst into tears. Eruestan coughed awkwardly and walked up to Kolgrim. “Not to hurry things along, but if we could learn that talent you were talking about, we could get out of here and leave you to your—”

“Join us, Outsiders!” Kolgrim shouted, a wide smile on his face. “Help us greet Our Lady to her new home! Brother Eskild, sound the horn!”

“The horn?” Rowena whispered, looking back at him. Eruestan felt a thrill of dread fall down his spine. Before he could say anything, the Disciples rose back to their feet and turned around to face a mountaintop far in the distance. A blond one near the back reached into his cloak and pulled out an intricately carved horn. Taking a deep breath, he blew loudly, its sound echoing throughout the mountains.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, there was a great roar in the distance: the sound of a monster being woken. “Behold!” Kolgrim cried. “She approaches!”

A black mass had left the mountaintop, circling around the peak and roaring into the skies. Eruestan’s heart began to race as he traced it with his eyes. It was hard to make out what it was, exactly. It had large, flapping wings and appeared to be massive, even from a distance. He squinted as it drew closer, still unable to tell what it was. It couldn’t be anything good—and then he realized what exactly it was.

“ _Everyone, take cover!_ ” he cried, diving behind a boulder. The rest of the party threw themselves down beside him, realizing at the same time what it was. This was not done a moment too soon—the instant Sten’s head ducked beneath the rock, a giant dragon landed with a crash into the clearing in front of the cavern.

For a moment there was silence in the clearing, broken only by the dragon’s heavy panting. Eruestan peered out from behind the rock, trying to figure out what was happening. Covered in dark brown scales, the dragon was simply massive, easily the size of the Redcliffe chantry. Its beady yellow eyes glared down at the Disciples as it slightly opened its jaws, revealing a set of impossibly sharp teeth. The Disciples seemed shocked; fortunately the dragon seemed to be as well. _Don’t say anything_ , Eruestan thought desperately. _Get out of here and run!_

At that point, Kolgrim had found his voice again. “Andraste!” he cried, approaching the dragon. “Embrace thy children! Thou hast returned to us!”

The dragon did nothing for a moment, just staring at him. “Maybe it really is tamed?” Leliana whispered, looking around the rock herself. For a second, Eruestan almost believed it. Then, the dragon opened its jaws wide and let loose a stream of white-hot flame, completely engulfing Kolgrim and the Disciples.

“ _Shite_!” Eruestan threw himself behind the rock once more, shying away from the heat. The roar of flame, along with the Disciples screams, filled the clearing; the snow around them melted as well. As the fire died away, the dragon lifted its neck and roared loudly, sending vibrations rumbling through the air.

“How are we getting out of here?” Rowena yelled in Eruestan’s ear.

Eruestan ran his hands through his hair, thinking quickly. “Wynne, Morrigan, help me cast a distraction in the air!” he shouted. “Everyone else, try and run around it while we’re casting, and stay away from its mouth!”

The three mages focused on the sky and pointed their hands upwards. Several orbs of blinding light began floating around the dragon’s head. Confused, it roared again and started snapping at them with its jaws, its teeth clashing together like steel. The group quickly ran out from behind the rocks as the stench of burning flesh filled the air. The Disciples’ bodies were charred husks on the ground, all contorted into terrible positions. Too energized to worry about them, Eruestan ran forward, trying to make his way around the beast. At that moment, however, the spell stopped. The dragon peered down at them and reared back, flapping its wings. The party was lifted off their feet by the wind and blasted back against the cliff walls. Pain stabbed up Eruestan’s leg – he had broken his ankle.

The dragon had taken flight, circling in the air above them. “Shit shit shit shit shit!” he said, trying to struggle to his feet. He immediately stumbled, yet didn’t bother healing himself. If the fight carried on much longer, he would need as much energy as he could get.

“Are you all right?” Rowena asked, grabbing his arm. “Maker, this is amazing – _it’s coming back!_ ”

The dragon swooped low, its jaws open wide. Eruestan threw up a magic shield, quickly supported by Wynne and Morrigan. The flames crashed beautifully against it, curling back in a multitude of colors and light. The heat splashed against the mountainside, causing warm water from the snow banks to pool at their feet. The dragon flew out of sight overhead.  The party huddled in the cave entrance, all scanning the skies.

“How are we supposed to fight this?” Leliana cried, her bow drawn. The dragon roared from somewhere above them, shaking the mountain.

Suddenly, Rowena ran forward, picking through the burned remains of the Disciples. Her face was screwed in disgust, and Eruestan could tell that she was fighting back an urge to retch. The dragon roared again, this time much closer. “Rowena, get back here!” he cried, completely bewildered by what she was doing. She ignored her and instead swooped to the ground, picking up the charred horn used to summon the beast in the first place. She grabbed it and dove back towards the cave just as the dragon swooped low again and set the clearing on fire.  “Sten, stay with me behind those rocks,” she gasped, pointing to a set of boulders on one side of the clearing. “Alistair, Zevran, you go to the other side. When the dragon lands, go for its legs – the wings are too high to reach.”

“What do you mean, _when the dragon lands_?”

She ignored Alistair and looked towards the others. “Leliana, try to climb on top of those rocks and see if you can’t fire a few shots into its eyes. As for the three of you, try to keep its attention down here.”

“Volunteered as human bait?” Morrigan said. “Today is getting better and better.”

Rowena grimaced and placed the horn to her lips. Seeing that everyone was in position, she took a deep breath and blew hard. The sound was deafening, like a clash of thunder in their ears.

There was another roar and suddenly the dragon was descending again, its body streamlined to crash in the clearing. It collided with the earth in a great tremor, sending rocks and dirt flying into the air. Once again, it paused, searching for whomever had blown the horn. Before it could react, two arrows suddenly punctured both of its eyes.

The shriek the beast let loose sent a wave of chills flowing down Eruestan’s body. Spouting flame at random, its head was writhing through the clearing, sending several large boulders plummeting down towards the cavern entrance. Acting as a unit, the three mages suspended the rocks in midair and sent them flying at the dragon, knocking it back and temporarily stunning it. This was all the time Sten needed to plunge his blade firmly between the scales on the dragon’s back leg, forcing out another horrific shriek. The dragon tried to rear again and nearly collapsed on its leg – flapping its wings frantically, it started to fly out of the clearing once more. To Eruestan’s dismay, he saw a flash of red hair throw itself onto the dragon’s body just before it flew into the air.

* * *

 Rowena hadn’t had much time to think when she first jumped on the dragon’s back. Now, clinging onto the spikes along its spine as it soared through the air, she had no time to think at all. The cold mountain air was freezing and relentless; her hands were already numb, and tears were streaming down her eyes. Breathing was hard, too, the wind rushing past so fast it left her gasping. She had never been more excited in her life.

The dragon hadn’t seemed to realize that she was on its back. Clutching her sword, she began to crawl her way up, using the spikes on its back to pull herself along. Her heart racing, she made it to the beast’s neck and hugged it tightly, trying to figure out how to proceed. Now fully aware of her, it began bucking and rocking, trying to shake her off. Eyes narrowed, she gripped its neck even tighter and made her way to the back of its skull. The dragon was spouting flame at random, sending bursts of hot air blasting into her face. Then, it threw its head back, blasting her off. For a moment she was suspended in the air, her heart in her throat. However, the dragon contorted again and she was able to grab onto a spike on its neck. With a scream, she reached back and plunged her sword into the dragon’s skull.

The Cousland blade sank through the bone, spraying blood onto her arm. The beast howled and suddenly went limp, its body shivering. It began plummeting to the earth, flailing out wildly in pain. Rowena pressed herself against its neck, her heart racing. The dragon was spiraling, and the ground was getting closer and closer. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and leapt off, seconds before the dragon crashed into the earth.

She had landed on her wrist, but the cold snow distracted her from the pain. She looked over to her side in shock, taking deep, calming breaths. The dragon had slid off the mountain, leaving giant tracks in its wake. For a moment she just stared at the empty space. Then, she burst into laughter. 

 “ _Rowena_!” Eruestan and the others dashed over to her; Alistair, however, got there first. “Are you all right?” he asked urgently, kneeling down beside her.

“Maker, that was _incredible_!” she said, grinning broadly. “Seriously, though, what a complete _arse_ , summoning a bloody dragon…” Her arm throbbed in pain again. “Oh, damn, I think I sprained my wrist!”

“Sprained your… _what is the matter with you_?” Eruestan spluttered, hobbling up to them on his ankle. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed!”

She shrugged. “I was on its neck, it couldn’t have bit me.”

“You could have gotten thrown off!” She raised an eyebrow. “Well, fine, maybe not _you_ ,” he admitted. “But it was still reckless!”

“And it worked,” she pointed out, letting Alistair help her to her feet. “Unless you’d like to be fighting a dragon for the next five hours?”

“We killed a dragon!” Leliana squealed, catching up to them. “We’re officially legends! In Nevarra, they’d write epic poems about us!”

“Too bad we’re not in Nevarra,” Zevran said. “Now, shall we return to our friends the bloodthirsty villagers?”

Rowena stood up, clutching her wrist. There was a light breeze gently pushing her toward the cliff’s edge. She peered over, brushing the hair out of her face. To her surprise, a small footpath was carved out of the rock side, leading back down to the earth. “No,” she said, turning back around. “Grab Cormac and Brother Genitivi – we’re taking the dragon’s way down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcome! Many thanks for Janna for the lovely remarks!!


	29. Correspondences

_A letter from the ambassador of Orlais to Ferelden to his wife:_

My Dear Wife Méritécourte,

How long it has been since we last spoke! I do hate to break such lovely silence with news that will be unpleasant to us both, but I am afraid it must be done: my dear, I am returning home. As vexing as this news is to me (as I am sure it is to you as well, my sweet!), there is no avoiding it. The entire Orlesian diplomatic party is to be escorted out of Ferelden within a week’s time.

Believe me, my lovely, heinous bride, I tried to fight this decision with all the strength I had. However, the great houndlord Loghain proved stronger. Last night, I along with a few of my…friends…was rudely awakened in the middle of the night and dragged to the teyrn’s office. There, I was stripped of my golden seals of diplomacy and placed in the custody of a military escort. I am now halfway between Amaranthine and Highever.

I shall return to Val Royeaux within a month. Be sure to move your lover out of the house before I arrive.

With deepest regards,

Minard, Marquis de Paufrecont

* * *

 

_An official letter to the Empress of Orlais, written on fine parchment and bearing the seal of the Fereldan Crown._

To Her Imperial Radiance Celene, Empress of Orlais,

I am ashamed to write Your Radiance yet again regarding the behavior of my father towards your diplomatic corps. However, I must beg your forgiveness for the expulsion of the Marquis de Paufrecont from Denerim this past week. The death of my husband has affected all us of greatly, and I assure Your Majesty that my father’s actions were merely an extension of this grief. Please send my deepest regards to the poor Marquis, and as for the letter my father sent along with him…well, all I can say is that I sincerely hope that Monsieur de Paufrecont had the good sense to rip it to shreds.

Regrettably, I must also inform you that as of now, the border between our two nations is closed by an act of the Crown. Regardless of what your ambassador might say, I assure Your Majesty that this decision was made out of the utmost consideration to you and your people. These darkspawn have proven to be a far greater threat than we had first anticipated; the imperative now is to keep as many innocents out of danger until the threat is dealt with. The Lord Regent Loghain and I wish to assure you, however, that as no Archdemon has yet ben sighted this outpouring likely is not a true Blight.

We are all thrown into difficult and trying times, and the answers to our problems are anything but clear. I thank you for your words of comfort regarding the death of King Cailan. They were most appreciated.

Maker watch over you,

Anora Theirin, Queen of Ferelden

* * *

 

_A letter written hastily in strange symbols, hidden within the official missive to the Orlesian Empress._

Celene,

There is no time for niceties. Prepare Orlais for war. At the moment Ferelden does not have the strength to defeat these darkspawn, and I greatly fear that we are to be plunged into another Blight. Already the south is lost to us. Make sure that Orlais is ready when the time comes.

My father cannot know I am writing you like this. He is growing irrational and I am not sure how to act. It may come to the Empire to save us all.

Anora. 

* * *

 

_The writing on this scrap of paper is laborious yet untidy, as if written by a very serious child._

Howe,

Received reports that Wardens spotted in villages across Bannorn. Heading towards the Frostbacks. Assassin has either betrayed us or has been killed. Sweet-talking Antivan elf reported by informant – likely the former, then.

Told of growing unrest in Alienage. Must be dealt with quietly – raids against the elves attracts unwanted attention. Be discreet.

Highever. Redcliffe. The Wardens. You’ve failed me three times now, Howe. Take care not to do it again.

Loghain Mac Tir 

* * *

 

_Another scrap of parchment, this one written in a clear hand._

Lorris,

If I’d wanted your opinions, I’d have asked for them. I don’t care how many of these bastards you have to imprison, so long as they keep asking questions we’re keeping them under lock.

Send for some men to move my things into the Orlesian ambassador’s quarters – there have been too many bags of flaming shite left for me on the doorsills of the Cousland estate for comfort. Besides, the Marquis’s room had the best view of the royal gardens. Bring some of the good Antivan claret from the palace cellars while you’re at it.

Your report on the Queen’s actions was very interesting. Send the official letter to the Empress, but keep the second with us. Should Anora send any more messages to Orlais, let me know. With a bit of luck, we’ll crack this code and win leverage against her with the teyrn.

As for the Tevinter magister, write him again expressing casual interest on my part in his proposal. His offer might actually be of use to us, provided we can give a proper front for his team here in Denerim. Don’t use the teyrn’s seal until they begin to demand to see it – by that point, we should have a better idea of how to proceed anyways.

You did well spreading rumors of the Marquis de Paufrecont’s treachery to Teyrn Loghain. With him out of the way, I should be able to obtain more influence with His Grace.

Do be sure to kill whoever hired that assassin for me.

Arl Howe

* * *

 

_A fine-written letter on expensive parchment._

Alfstanna,

First, good news – there are living Wardens still. What’s more, Rowena Cousland is one of them. Maker willing, Highever won’t remain in Howe hands for long.

Unfortunately, I bear more bad news than good. All our worst fears are true. Lady Rowena confirmed that Rendon Howe attacked the Cousland family with no provocation – she was the sole survivor. The Wardens also confirm that Loghain betrayed the King at Ostagar – thus, he is to blame for Cailan’s death.

While I wish I could say I knew where to go from here, I must admit I’m at a loss. My brother remains in critical condition, and our only hope at saving him seems to be based in superstition and legend. If Eamon does die, the Bannorn will have no opponent to rally behind against Loghain, especially now that Bryce Cousland is dead. We must pray to the Maker that my brother will be spared.

Regardless, my friend, spread the news across the Bannorn – the Wardens live, and Howe and Loghain are filthy traitors. They’ll pay for their crimes, even if we have to call a Landsmeet to do it.

Have faith, Alfstanna. The Maker will guide us through these dark times, I am sure of it.

Teagan Guerrin


	30. The Rose and the Maleficar

For the first time in months, Rowena was alone.

It was a strange feeling, one amplified by the size of the hallways in Redcliffe Castle. The others had all gone off into various corners of the building, either attending to Arl Eamon or to their own needs. She herself had been shut out of the arl’s bedchambers during the healing rituals, a process that already had taken several hours. Now she was wandering the castle corridors, trying to get used to the sound of her own thoughts.

Hers were troubled, however. So many terrible things had happened around them over the past months, and up until that point she had had no time to process any of it. At the time, she had faced everything fearlessly. Now, however, the horror of it all was swirling around in her mind. Corpses gnawing flesh off screaming bodies, abominations ambling down dim-lit hallways, the horrible, leering grin of the darkspawn… “Stop,” she said sternly, shaking her head. “You’re a Cousland. Don’t crack now.”

She passed in front of an open door and caught a burst of sunlight. Intrigued, she poked her head through the door. She recognized the room instantly – it was Arl Eamon’s study. She had been here the last time she was at Redcliffe as a small girl.

From what she could remember, nothing had changed. A large oak desk was at the back wall, facing three giant windows with a stunning view of the lake below. She walked up to it and gazed around for a moment, letting her mind wander.

_‘Da, what’s that mountain over there?’_

_‘That’s Calenhad’s Sword, Pup, and it’s the tallest mountain in Ferelden.’_

_‘I’m going to climb it, then.’_

_‘I don’t doubt that, Pup.’_

“Get out of my head,” she snarled, trying to keep her eyes from watering. “Leave me alone!”

“You need only have asked,” someone said from the corner. She started and spun around.

“Morrigan!” Rowena flushed deeply and quickly wiped the tears off her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“‘Tis of little consequence,” the witch said. “I half expected to be interrupted eventually.” The witch stood up from the chair she had been sitting in, trying to shove something in the pouch at her side.. Rowena, however, was too quick.

“What are you reading?” she asked, smiling. Morrigan started and shook her head. “Oh, come on, don’t be shy,” Rowena said, reaching for it. “It’s not lewd, is it – _ouch_!” She had made a lunge for the book. However, the instant her fingers grazed the front cover, a bolt of electricity had jolted her.

“Oh, honestly!” Morrigan said, frowning at her. “I would have expected that from Alistair, but not from you, Rowena!”

“I thought I was being playful,” she gasped, nursing her hand. “Maker’s breath, Morrigan! What is that thing?” The witch hesitated. “Do you really think I’m going to let you get away without telling me?”

“Oh, all right,” she sighed. “Though I doubt you shall like this…”

“Sounds promising,” Rowena said, nervously eyeing the black leather book Morrigan laid out on her lap. “What is it?”

“This,” she said slowly, “is my mother’s grimoire.”

“Oh! Really?” Rowena stared at it for a moment, half-expecting it to do something. “What does that mean?”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “A grimoire is a collection of spells, an anthology of all the magic my mother possesses. The secrets inside could unlock the knowledge she’s held for generations.”

Morrigan was right – she didn’t like this. “Where did you find it?”

“Surprisingly, the Circle Tower,” Morrigan said. “It was sitting on a pile of books some demon must have overturned. ‘Twas almost as though it called to me in all the chaos of the Tower… Flemeth often talks about how she lost her book of spells in a Templar raid – this must be it. I have been trying to decipher it since I found it.”

The book scared Rowena, and that interested her. “What’s in it, if I can ask?” she said, peering down at it. It looked like any other old book, hardly the receptacle of all the secrets of someone like Flemeth.

“‘Tis difficult to describe,” Morrigan said. “‘Twould be better to show you, I think.” She opened the book and turned it around to show Rowena, revealing a series of blank pages.

For a moment, Rowena wasn’t sure if the witch was teasing her. “Morrigan, there’s nothing written down.”

“Isn’t there?” She looked surprised. “I wonder…Flemeth’s magic has filled this book, making it difficult for even me to read. She may have enchanted it so that only those of her blood may be able to look at it.”

“Would she trust you enough to let you read it?” Rowena hadn’t been thinking when she asked it, and she immediately regretted it. After all, it was the type of blunt questioning that normally made Morrigan so angry. The witch, however, seemed intrigued by the question.

“She would not,” she said thoughtfully. “That requires…further reflection…”

Someone entered the room. “Oh, there you are, Rowena,” Alistair said, smiling. “I’ve been looking all over for—oh. You’re still alive, Morrigan.”

“Do not waste your pleasantries on me, Alistair,” she said icily, snapping her book shut. “I was just leaving.”

“What, and deprive me of your company? You’re too cruel.” She shot him a cold glare before disappearing down the hallway. “Maker, is she hard to put up with.”

“You don’t exactly make it easy for her, either,” Rowena pointed out, smiling gently.

“Who, me? Please, I’m an absolute pleasure to be with.” He sat down next to her and smiled. To her surprise, her heart rate picked up a bit. “What was she showing you, anyways? A manual on devouring the souls of small children?”

Rowena realized that a former Templar might not like the idea of living next to an ancient witch’s spellbook. “It was…her diary.”

He shrugged. “Same difference. Bet it’s written in blood, too.” He grimaced. “We travel with some strange people, don’t we?”

“That’s an understatement.” He looked remarkably good, smiling at her like that. She tried not to think too hard about it. “Speaking of which, where’s everyone else?”

He shrugged. “Leliana’s hearing a Chanting in the chapel and Sten’s out training in the courtyard. Zevran’s probably chatting up some besotted kitchen worker…and Wynne and Eruestan are still with the arl.” He paused, a strange look in his eyes. She reached out and held his hand.

“He’ll be all right, Alistair,” she said. “We found the Sacred bloody Ashes – if they can’t heal him, nothing can.”

“That’s just it, though,” he said gruffly. “If they can’t heal him…No, sorry, I shouldn’t think like that.”

She squeezed his hand and looked down. “I know how you feel,” she said quietly. “There’s nothing crueler than having to hold onto hope. But that doesn’t mean we should ever give it up. Arl Eamon will get better, I promise.”

 “And they will find your brother,” he said, squeezing her hand. She looked up at him in shock, surprised yet grateful that he had been able to tell what she had been thinking about. They stood like that for a moment, their heads terribly close. For a moment, she could hardly breathe. Then, Alistair coughed and looked out the window. “It’s a beautiful view,” he muttered, neck red.

“Er…yes! Yes, it is,” she said, looking out as well. “My father used to test my geography from out this window.”

“Arl Eamon used to do the same for me!” Alistair said in surprise. “Not that he thought of me as a son, of course…”

“I’m sure he cared about you as much as you did about him,” she said. He smiled, yet did not look entirely convinced. “Come on, let’s see who’s a better teacher, Bryce Cousland or Eamon Guerrin,” she teased, trying to distract him. “Geography contest, right now.”

He grinned broadly. “Oh, I’m going to _destroy_ you, Lady Rowena.” He pointed out the window at the giant mountain in front of them. “What’s that, then?”

“Easy,” she scoffed, “that’s Calenhad’s Sword. How tall is it?”

“3,400 feet,” he said. “What’s that village off to the northeast?”

She followed to where he was pointing. “That’s Almstead.”

“Wrong!” he cheered. “That’s Crothby.”

She frowned and shook her head. “Crothby’s farther down.”

“That’s not true,” he said, frowning as well. “Almstead is behind the cliffs, you can’t see it from here.”

“No, you can definitely see Almstead from the castle,” Rowena said. “I’m looking at it right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know, there’s a way to resolve this.”

“Admit that I’m right?”

“Find a map,” he scowled. “I think there’s an atlas in the bookshelf.”

“I’ll check the desk,” she said as he crossed the room. The first drawer contained a few pieces of parchment and feather pens, while the second was strangely full of different sized rocks. The content of the third, however, made her pause. Sitting in the center was a simple clay amulet bearing the Sacred Flames of Andraste. It had clearly been shattered into thousands of pieces; someone, however, had painstakingly reconstructed it, gluing all the shards back together.

“We’re both wrong, it’s Matterton,” Alistair said disappointedly as he flipped through the pages of a giant book. “What’s the matter with you?”

She bent down and picked up the amulet, hardly able to speak. “Oh, Alistair…look what he kept in his desk…”

The knight peered closely at the drawer and froze, his mouth open in shock. “That’s…not possible,” he whispered. “My mother’s amulet…I never thought I’d see it again. The arl kept it here the whole time?”

She nodded. “You must have meant more to him than you realize, Alistair.”

He stared at the amulet for a moment. “Thank you for showing me this,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “This…it means a lot.” He blinked and looked down. “Actually, I’ve got something to show you, too – I’ve been carrying it around for a while and…” He pulled a rose from his pocket, one that somehow was still in full bloom.

For a moment, she didn’t understand. “What’s that?”

“I think it’s a rose,” he said, grinning. “I found it in Lothering, of all places. All that screaming and chaos, and here was this beautiful rose bush sitting all by itself. At first I took this because I didn’t want all of them destroyed by darkspawn. Now that it’s still so perfect, though…I don’t know, there’s something about this little spot of beauty in the middle of all this darkness…” He coughed and made nervous eye contact.  “I guess it just reminds me of you.”

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Her knees were weak, was that normal? Years of flattery and courtship, and no one had ever said anything quite so beautiful to her. Alistair clearly liked her – in fact, he liked her _a lot_.

But how did she feel about him? How were you supposed to know that about someone? Yes, he was handsome, and he was kind, and they had similar senses of humor, and spending time with him made her forget so many of the horrible things she had been through…

Now she had taken too long to respond, however. “And…you hate it,” he said, face mortified as he drew back his hand. “Maker’s breath, I’m a complete idiot – don’t worry, I’ll never bring this up again, I’m totally fine with staying friends—”

_WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, COUSLAND?_ “Alistair, wait!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him close. For an instant, their eyes locked, inches away from each other. _What nice eyes_ , she thought. Then she leaned up and kissed him.

She immediately knew she had made the right decision. Alistair was shy, yet firm and gentle, and they stayed locked together for a solid moment. She shivered as they drew apart. “I love it,” she said, taking the rose from his hand. “It’s beautiful.”

Alistair looked dazed. “I, um, I’m glad, um, that…” He paused. “Is it all right if we do that again?”

She grinned and nodded. The second kiss was even better than the first, and lasted much longer…until someone coughed softly from the doorway.

The two flew apart to see Leliana, Zevran, and Sten standing at the entrance. “Bravo, my friends,” Zevran said, clapping slowly. “It is about time you acted on your baser passions.”

“Maker’s breath!” Rowena choked. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Too long.”

“Be nice, Sten.” Leliana looked like she was almost tearing up in joy. “So sorry to interrupt, we just – _oh, but this is so exciting!_ Sorry, sorry – we just came to tell you that Arl Eamon is awake again!”

They both started. “He is?” Alistair asked. “That’s fantastic! We should get to him at once!” He took off down the corridor, leaving Rowena to deal with the wicked grins on her friends’ faces.

“How lovely to see some of us finding sweet distraction during these troubled times,” Zevran said, winking.

“Oh, like you’ve never seen two people kiss before,” she said, smiling broadly. “Now come on, we should follow Alistair.”

“If you would like us to let you two be, you need only say the word,” Zevran teased. She rolled her eyes and pushed forward, leading the way towards Arl Eamon’s room.

“I for one think it’s awfully romantic,” Leliana cooed, skipping down the hall behind her. “I’m glad you two could find a bit of happiness.”

“Thanks, Leli.” She held up the rose, almost giddy herself. “Look what he gave me.”

To her surprise, Leliana’s face fell. “Is that…that’s one of my Maker roses!”

Rowena didn’t like the sound of that. “Your what?”

“My Maker roses!” All of a sudden, Leliana looked extremely upset. “The Maker sent that rose to me!”

Sten huffed impatiently. “ _Vashedan_ , does this Maker ever leave you alone?”

Leliana shook her head in fury. “When I first had my vision, I didn’t really believe – I just thought it had all been a dream. I prayed to him, though, and asked for a sign to know if it was real or not. Then the Maker revived a dead rosebush behind the chantry and proved it to me! How dare Alistair take one?”

Rowena’s smile became a little strained. “Well, I mean, come on, Leli, you didn’t tell any of us about that, how could he have known? And it is a very pretty rose…”

“Of course it’s pretty! It’s from the Maker!” She crossed her arms. “Give it back!”

Rowena frowned and drew back her arm. “What? No!”

Leliana’s eyes went dark. “Rowena, this was a special gift to me from the _Maker_. You _have_ to give it back!”

“Leliana, you think _everything’s_ a gift from the Maker,” Rowena snapped. “Yesterday you said the same thing about a butterfly and three different trees! Let me just have this one gift from Alistair!”

“ _Espèce de cat—_ ”

Someone tutted loudly in front of them. Wynne was stepping out of the arl’s bedchamber, one eyebrow raised. “Ladies, please, a bit of decency,” she said sternly. “The arl is still very weak, and you need to keep your voices down.” She paused and looked at the rose in Rowena’s hand. “That is a very lovely flower, Rowena.”

“Thank you, Wynne,” Rowena said, ignoring Leliana’s glare. “Alistair gave it to me.”

“Did he?” The mage furrowed her brow slightly, yet smiled. “That’s very sweet – you all should head inside, though. Arl Eamon wants to speak with us. All except you, Zevran,” she said, blocking his entrance. “I don’t know if you should enter a convalescent’s room.”

“Who, me?” he said innocently. “My dear Wynne, I shall be the very soul of discretion.”

“I was more worried about disease.” She sighed and stepped aside. “Just don’t try to seduce the arlessa.”

“I will not make any promise I cannot keep,” he said solemnly. Rowena followed him into the room and blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. It was a large room filled with people; the Circle mages were slumped against the walls, exhausted from their efforts. The arl lay in a massive bed in the center of the room, his head propped against a pillow. Rowena was shocked. Eamon looked like he had aged decades since she had last seen him. Still, he was just as much the imposing man she had always known him to be. With his large nose and graying hair, the arl was a perfect image of nobility and leadership. To his right, Eruestan was leaning against a bedpost, obviously trying to stay awake while Alistair, Bann Teagan, and the arlessa engaged in a heated discussion. Catching her eye, he smiled, shook his head wearily, and then focused back on the conversation.

“Of course I am grateful for what the Grey Wardens have done, Teagan,” Isolde was saying from her place at her husband’s side, her hand clasped in his. “And I suppose one day I shall have to get used to seeing Alistair as Arl of Redcliffe. But to share a room with my newly-awakened husband and his natural-born son after my own has lost all his rights to his father’s title – it is too much!”

“We don’t have time to leave you and Eamon be, Isolde,” the bann said, annoyed. “We need to speak with him about the political situation in Ferelden. Besides, Alistair isn’t going to inherit Redcliffe.”

The arlessa scoffed. “Don’t play me for a fool. Alistair may be a bastard, but he is Eamon’s last remaining heir.”

Alistair shook his head. “I’m not Arl Eamon’s son, Lady Isolde!”

“Oh, of course not, you are just some poor innocent waif that my husband just _had_ to shelter in our castle.” She raised an eyebrow. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“King Maric.” Eamon’s voice was so weak Rowena could barely hear it.

Isolde furrowed her eyebrows and leaned closer to her husband. “What was that, my love?”

The arl took a deep breath and lifted his head. “Alistair is King Maric’s son. Not mine.”

“King Maric…” Isolde’s eyes went wide. “You mean…Alistair…he is a prince? And you only tell me this now?”

“I’m not really a prince,” Alistair muttered.

The arlessa paid him no attention. “You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, letting go of Eamon’s hand, “that for ten years, I harbored a challenger to the throne in _my_ home, and only now do I learn of it?”

“Isolde,” Teagan said gently, “we all swore…”

She stood up in rage, her cheeks flushing. “ _You_ knew? Teagan knew this before me? The spare brother knows before the wife?”

Teagan looked hurt. “We did it to protect you…”

“Protect me?” She laughed. “Do you know what happens to challengers to the throne? They are killed, along with the people that help them. And yet, not only do you endanger my life and the life of my son by bringing this boy here, you also are foolish enough to think that everyone sent to kill Alistair would spare either of us because we knew nothing of him? You think my ignorance would save me? Not even you are so daft, Teagan! No, it is because you found me too weak to handle this information!” She spun around and glared at her husband. “Tell me, when Connor was possessed and the dead rose from their graves, did I collapse in a ball and wait for someone to save me? No. I went for help! I calmed the beast! I fought for my son! Women fight – and yet so often it is only our enemies who recognize this. ‘Safety’ and ‘protection’ – tell me, did they spare Eleanor Cousland when they slaughtered her husband?” Rowena breathed in sharply, though her face revealed nothing. The arlessa glanced at her and flushed. “You should both be ashamed,” she hissed, cutting off Teagan’s protests. “I can’t bear to look at you!” With that she burst out of the room.

For a moment, the room was silent. “Well, that went about as well as I thought it would,” the arl remarked.

“Maric made us promise,” Teagan said, obviously wounded. “We were protecting Rowan’s honor – and damn it, we _were_ protecting Isolde! Why can’t she see how dangerous telling her would have been?”

“No, we should have told her,” Arl Eamon said. “Still, I did promise the king…but no matter, what’s done is done. Teagan, go find Isolde – I imagine she’s with Connor. By the time you calm her down, I should be recovered enough to see my boy – send him in after I finish speaking with the Wardens.” The bann nodded distractedly and ran out the doors. The arl coughed and shook his head. “I’ve never told my brother that I know he’s in love with my wife,” he said to the Wardens. “I expect the shame in that conversation would kill us both.”

“With all due respect, Your Lordship,” Eruestan said wearily, “after everything we’ve been through, I’d rather you not joke about dying for a while.”

“Far too true,” the arl said. “Wardens, I cannot express my gratitude enough. Redcliffe may be in a sorry state, but we all owe our survival to you.”

“It was our pleasure,” Rowena said. “Still, we didn’t do it out of selflessness. We came to you with treaties pledging the Bannorn’s support for the Wardens.”

The arl smiled. “I see. Unfortunately, at the moment the country is far from united enough to compose a front strong enough to confront the Blight.”

“Then how do we get the rest of the nobility on our side?” Eruestan asked.

“A Landsmeet,” Rowena and the arl said at the same time.

“Oh!” He looked embarrassed. “I didn’t know there already was a solution.”

“The Landsmeet isn’t always a solution,” Rowena said, smirking. “It’s a meeting of all the nobles in the Bannorn. Any time there’s a crisis the king can’t resolve, the Bannorn meets to try and find an answer that works for everyone. It’s been a few years since the last one.”

“Five years exactly,” Arl Eamon said. “The year we declared King Maric dead and gave his throne to Cailan. Now we must choose a new king once more.” He turned to stare at Alistair, who went pale and began shaking his head.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he said. “I may be Maric’s son, but I’m not fit to be his heir.”

“No matter what the outcome is, we’ll need the Landsmeet to address the Blight and challenge Loghain,” Eamon said, frowning. “Without it there’s no way Ferelden will come together into one army.”

“How long will it take to summon everyone?” Leliana asked. “Ferelden is large, and there are many nobles…”

He shrugged. “Even in the best of circumstances, getting word across the entire Bannorn takes months – with the horde coming and civil war brewing, it might not be until the summer.”

“The summer?” Eruestan said. “The darkspawn could be halfway to Minrathous by then!”

“Then we’ll have to focus on our other treaties first,” Rowena said. “The mages are already on our side – if we can get the dwarves and the elves as well, we’ll already have a sizeable army by the time the Landsmeet is called.”

“Good luck in Orzammar,” Eamon said. “If you think the Bannorn’s slow, try working with the dwarves. But let’s speak of different matters – I understand that my son’s a mage.”

Wynne and Eruestan glanced at each other. “Yes,” Wynne said. “Connor has a gift, one that he obviously needs to learn to control.”

Eamon shook his head. “To think that the boy caused all this…”

“You mustn’t blame him, Your Lordship,” Wynne said. “Connor is a young boy, he had no idea of the forces he was dealing with – believe me, grown mages with full mastery of their powers have been forced to do far worse.” Eruestan stirred slightly and looked over at her. Rowena wondered what he was thinking. He and Wynne had gotten very close over the past few weeks as Wynne taught him her magic, and Rowena could tell that something had been bothering both of them for some time.

“That’s not very reassuring,” the arl said, smiling. “But don’t worry, I don’t blame him. When do you think he’ll leave for the Circle, Enchanter?”

She shook her head sadly. “Given the state of things, not anytime soon. Connor might even stay with you until the end of the Blight. Until then I imagine a small unit of Templars and a tutor from the Tower will be sent to Redcliffe to train him.”

The arl sighed. “Speaking of tutors, there’s the question of the apostate that started this whole mess.”

Wynne looked pained. “I’ve already sent word to the First Enchanter about him. As the Tower is in no shape to administer the Rite of Tranquility, Irving believes our only option is to…well, execute him.”

The arl nodded. “I expected as much.”

Rowena was shocked. She had no attachment to the mage, but after everything he had done to help them killing him seemed less than honorable. “Jowan wasn’t responsible for the demons, though!” she protested. “And he helped save your life! We couldn’t have made it to the Circle without him standing guard here!”

“He also tried to poison me,” Eamon said coldly. “Forgive me if I’m not inclined to kiss his feet.”

“It doesn’t seem fair, though,” Alistair said. “It would have made perfect sense for Jowan to run once we’d left, but he stayed to help everyone.”

“Justice isn’t always fair,” the arl said sternly. “An important lesson for a ki—for a Grey Warden to learn.” Alistair nodded slowly; someone else, however, scoffed.

“‘Justice’,” Morrigan snapped, walking through the door. “Cover your misdeeds with fancy words if you like, you still cannot make them acceptable.”

“The mage should have been put down from the beginning,” Sten said. “His kind are dangerous.”

“You think all mages are dangerous,” Leliana said. “Jowan shows true repentance and he’s done so much to redeem himself. It would be unholy to kill him now! I say we put it to a vote!”

The arl chuckled in disbelief. “A vote? Forgive me, but this is not your decision to make. This Jowan has betrayed my family and Redcliffe, I will see him punished.”

“If your gratitude towards us is so complete, my lord, you will let us have our say,” Rowena said, bristling slightly. “We’ve dealt with Jowan more than you, we’re better equipped to judge him.” The two stared each other down for a moment; then Eamon narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded.

She turned back to the others. “Alistair, what do you say?”

The knight glanced over at the arl. “Death,” he stammered, his face white.

She nodded. “Leliana?”

“Spare him,” she said firmly.

“Sten?”

“Death,” the Qunari said without hesitating.

“Wynne?”

The mage looked down at her hands. “Death,” she murmured.  

“You already know my answer,” Morrigan snapped. “Keep me out of this fool’s trial.”

Rowena looked to the back of the room. “Zevran?”

“Hm?” The elf looked up in surprise. “Oh, I am to have an opinion on this? Put me down for ‘undecided.’”

She turned back to her friend. “Eruestan?”

He was silent for a moment, his face unreadable. “I agree with the arl,” he said finally, looking up at her.

Rowena paused for a moment. She remembered his conversation with the spirits in the Temple, and for a moment was worried that he was making a decision he would later come to regret. “Are you sure?”

He nodded, face firm. “Jowan is a maleficar, no matter what good he’s done. Even with the best of intentions, he’s a threat to everyone around him. This is the only way to protect innocent people.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t like this.”

“No one likes this decision,” Arl Eamon said. “But the law is the law, and this mage must suffer the consequences of his actions.”

“The law follows your interpretation,” Morrigan said. “What natural law forbids a mage from using magic? His poisoning is his only crime, one that he has more than repented for – as of yet he has not used his powers for ill gain.”

“There are several dead Templars at the Circle who would disagree,” Wynne pointed out quietly. “And in any case, blood magic is punished both for the ill it causes and the potential it has to harm. Jowan could hurt a lot of people with his magic.”

Rowena thought back to the abominations at the Tower, with their horrible lurching strides. “If he’s as dangerous as you say he is, then I agree,” she said slowly, fighting back a feeling of disgust with herself. “We need to put him down to protect others.”

“Then it is decided,” the arl said. “Jowan will die tomorrow morning.”

Morrigan growled in anger and stormed out the room, glaring at Rowena in contempt. She understood her rage – she herself wasn’t sure she had just done the right thing.

“Again, Wardens, I am in your debt,” Eamon said. “Once we’ve sent out the call for a Landsmeet, we should have a better idea of what we will need to do.”

Rowena nodded. “In the meantime, though, where should we go?”

“The first winter snows in the Orlesian Pass will stop in two weeks,” Leliana offered. “We can use that window to get to Orzammar before the later snows start again.”

“An excellent idea,” Eamon said. “You are of course welcome at Redcliffe until you leave. Now, Wardens, unless we have something else to discuss, I would very much like to see my son.”

“Of course.” The group began moving out of the room, opening the door to Connor.

“Grey Wardens,” he stammered, trembling slightly. His eyes were wide with fear, void of all the hatred the demon had given them. “I…I am v-very grateful…”

Rowena smiled down at him, heart aching. Though they looked nothing alike, she couldn’t help but think of Oren as she stared at the Guerrin child. “Oh, all that was no problem, Connor,” she said, stooping down to talk to him. “If you saw half of the things we’ve had to fight, you wouldn’t feel bad at all about what happened here.”

He smiled shyly. “Maman says you had to fight a dragon to find Father the Sacred Ashes.”

She nodded. “It was twice the size of the castle, too, with teeth sharp enough to cut rocks in half.”

“Don’t listen to Lady Rowena, Connor,” Arl Eamon chuckled. “The Couslands are renowned liars.”

The boy went pale. “F-Father…”

“Ah, there’s no need for that, son,” the arl said gruffly. “Come here.”

The Wardens left the room quietly, closing the door on father and son. “I hope he’s gentle with the poor boy,” Wynne said, shaking her head. “None of this tragedy was his fault.”

“He should have put him down like he did the mage,” Sten said. “It would have been a great mercy.”

“Arl Eamon’s not that kind of man,” Alistair said tersely. “He’ll be kind to Connor, trust me. I’m just glad this whole mess is over.” He sighed and grasped Rowena’s hand. “I’ll see you later – I’m going to take a walk.” He glanced awkwardly at the others, then leaned in and gave her a quick kiss.

Eruestan coughed as the knight began walking down the hallway. “Well, that’s new.”

She grinned at him. “Oh, there’s a lot to fill you in on…” Wynne smiled slightly and passed them by. “By the way,” Rowena murmured, “is there something going on with Wynne? You two have been acting strange for a while, that’s all.”

Eruestan paused. “There is,” he said slowly, “but that’s for Wynne to tell you, not me.”

She frowned. “Is it anything bad?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t think so, though.”

“All right, then – and hey.” She grabbed his hand. “Are you all right? You look troubled.”

He smiled at her. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I feel great.”

* * *

 Night had fallen on Redcliffe Castle, and Eruestan couldn’t sleep.

Part of the problem was that he had never slept alone before. Weeks of traveling and fighting had left him exhausted, yet his private room in the castle was too quiet to sleep in. He had been raised listening to the sounds of others falling asleep around him: the rustling of sheets, the creaks of beds, choirs of gentle snoring. Now, however, the silence echoed in his ears like an ocean.

What was worse was knowing that someone else in the castle was struggling with the silence as well. Jowan had been the loudest snorer in the apprentice quarters – everyone had known that – but Eruestan doubted he was snoring now.

_I wonder if they’ve told him_ , he thought, staring at the ceiling. _Would I want to be told?_ He wasn’t sure what was worse, having to wait for the end to come, or sleeping away not knowing it would arrive. He supposed it didn’t matter; either way, Jowan would be dead by morning.

He sighed and kicked off his blankets. There was no use pretending he would be able to sleep.

The fire in his room had gone out hours ago. He had been given one of the nicer guest rooms in the castle, full of sturdy furniture and warm tapestries, yet the chamber felt freezing. He threw a blanket over himself to fight the cold and pushed open his door. The hallway beyond was dark; he snapped his fingers and summoned a ball of light, lighting his way down the corridor. Clutching his blanket around his shoulders, he pushed open a door leading to a small courtyard and stepped out into the moonlight.

The air outside was bracing. He pulled his blanket closer and stepped out onto the grass. It was sharp and brittle underfoot, forcing him to hop over to a bench underneath a large tree. He sat down and stared at the moon, wondering when Jowan had last seen it.

“You are up very late, my friend,” the tree said.

He jumped off the bench and looked up at the branches. “Zevran! Why are you out here?”

The assassin jumped to the ground. “The same reason you are, Eruestan. I cannot sleep.”

Zevran was not wearing a shirt. His tattoos made him look almost otherworldly in the moonlight. “Aren’t you cold?” Eruestan asked, shivering.

He shook his head. “The Crows beat it out of you after a while. I imagine you must be, though.”

Eruestan smiled softly. “I haven’t really thought about it. I’ve been a little distracted.”

“Ah,” he said. “You are thinking of your friend.”

Eruestan stared back up at the moon. “Yes.”

“He was also your lover?”

He wrinkled his nose. “No, just my closest friend for a while.”

Zevran whistled. “And never once your lover? Friends in Ferelden are very different from ones in Antiva.”

“Jowan and I would have been a very strange couple,” Eruestan said. “Doesn’t mean I can’t think about him.”

“You feel guilty, then?” Zevran asked.

“What? No!” Eruestan said, staring at him. “Why would I? Jowan’s a blood mage! He needs to be stopped now before he hurts someone else!”  Zevran stared at him in silence; he suddenly felt the need to defend himself. “You weren’t at the Tower, Zev, you have no idea of the evil maleficar can do.”

“Evils that this Jowan will do?” he asked. “As of yet he has not done anything wrong.”

Eruestan furrowed his eyebrows. “He poisoned the arl! And he used blood magic to attack the Templars!”

“In both cases, his hand was forced,” Zevran pointed out. “In Antiva we call this the instinct to survive. In every other instance, though, Jowan has used his magic to help others.”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s done, it’s what he _could_ do that makes him dangerous,” Eruestan said. “Even if Jowan never intentionally hurts someone else with blood magic, he’s now at a much higher risk of attracting demons. If he becomes an abomination—” He thought of Wynne and fell silent.

“All this arguing, and yet still you do not seem convinced yourself,” Zevran said.

“Well, what do you want me to say, Zevran?” Eruestan said. “That I suddenly think blood magic is ok? That I think Jowan should be set free around innocent people? That I’ve forgiven him for betraying the Tower, for betraying me?”

“Ah,” the assassin said, smiling slightly. “There it is.”

“There what is?” Eruestan was getting annoyed. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, my friend,” he said. “In the end, I do not feel strongly one way or the other. I would just hate to think that a man’s life depended on the feelings of a jilted friend.”

Eruestan huffed and looked away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Zevran.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “Though if that is true, then you must explain to me why a young man who has made what most would call a logical decision cannot sleep at night, unless he fears that his choices were not made with justice in mind.”

Eruestan was quiet for a moment. “He betrayed all of us, Zev,” he said finally. “The Tower, his girlfriend, me…what am I supposed to say?”

Zevran’s face was unreadable. “I once thought that someone close to me betrayed me as well. It…it did not end well. Believe me, Eruestan, you do not want to live with something like that on your soul.”

Eruestan looked over at him in surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be that serious before.”

Zevran did not smile. “It is a serious matter.”

He couldn’t tell if it was from the air or Zevran’s eyes, but Eruestan was starting to feel cold. He imagined Jowan felt much colder – he was always complaining about the drafts in the Tower, and when winter came…

_“I hate winter,” Jowan had grumbled, holding a small ball of flame up against the window. “I can’t believe we have to do this.”_

_“I can’t believe you knocked over a bookshelf in the library,” Eruestan replied, ignoring the numbness in his feet. He and Jowan were young teenagers, and they were melting the ice on the apprentice quarter’s windows as punishment for Jowan’s actions. “I keep telling you, find out what spells do before you test them.”_

_“I totally researched that spell beforehand!” Eruestan raised an eyebrow. “Well, I skimmed it. Whatever. I’m sorry you got dragged into this, though.”_

_He had smiled and shrugged. “It keeps things interesting. You can always count on me, Jowan.”_

Eruestan had stopped breathing for a moment. “Zevran, I think I’ve made a mistake – a terrible, terrible mistake.”

It was remarkable how quickly the assassin’s attitude changed. “Wonderful!” he said, grinning broadly. “This is great news!”

Eruestan was nauseated. “Is it?”

“Indeed,” Zevran said, smiling. “Follow me, my friend – there may be a way to correct this yet.

* * *

 The two guards stood in front of the dungeons, trying to ignore the cold and the shadows. “Maker, it’s dark down here, isn’t it, Emma?” one said, shifting uncomfortably.

“I mean, we are in the dungeons, Harker,” she said. “Wouldn’t make sense to have a lot of windows.”

“It’s still creepy, though.” He was silent for a moment. “I still hear them sometimes, you know. In my dreams.”

“Andraste’s arse…”

“What?” he asked. “They damn near killed all of us! Don’t pretend you can’t hear them anymore!”

His partner shot him a look. “Harker, I don’t get paid nearly enough to sit here and listen to you talk about your dreams, ok? So shut up and keep watch.”

“Wait, you get paid to do this?”

Before Emma could reply, a flash of blinding white light filled the hallway, making them both squawk. Then, two rocks flew through the air and cracked into their foreheads, knocking both unconscious.

Eruestan ended his light spell and looked over at Zevran, who dropped the other rocks he was carrying. “Really? That was your plan? Knock them out?”

“It worked, did it not?” the assassin pointed out. “Besides, now they will think Jowan used his blood magic to escape, not that two dashing heroes freed him.”

Eruestan raised an eyebrow. “Dashing isn’t quite the word I’d use…”

“You wound me,” Zevran said, winking at him. “In any case, let us free Jowan before anyone finds us.”

Using the key from one of the guards’ belts, the two entered the dungeons, Eruestan lighting up the room with magic. Jowan was huddled in the back of his cell, head between his knees. “Who’s there?” he said sharply, squinting in the light. “I have until morning!” He peered closely, then stopped as he recognized who was there. “Ah. Eruestan. Did you come to finish me off, then?”

“Not quite,” Eruestan replied. “We’re here to bust you out.”

Jowan spat. “If you’re here to mock me, save your breath, the guards already — _whoa_!” Eruestan had slammed a hole into the bars with magic, wide enough for Jowan to slip through. “You – you’re actually going to help me?”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Eruestan said. “Zev, hurry and pick those locks before someone finds us.”

The assassin snuck through and bent over the handcuffs. “This should be quick – _merda!_ ” He stood up quickly, throwing a red-hot lockpick to the ground. “The cuffs are enchanted!”

Eruestan frowned. He had known that the locks couldn’t be broken with magic, but he had hoped that Zevran would be able to pick them. This was going to complicate matters. “Is there another way to break them?”

The assassin nursed his hand and looked up at him. “We could beat them with a rock?”

“I’d rather not go with that option,” Jowan said.

“You are not in much of a position to disagree, my friend.”

“There has to be another way,” Eruestan mused. “Maybe if we – what was that?” Voices were echoing down the hall. “Shit! Zev, get back here!” The assassin jumped back through the bars. Gritting his teeth, Eruestan brought his hands together and muttered, “ _Degregor_.” With a loud groan, the cell’s bars straightened back into place. “Jowan, pretend to be asleep – Zev, we need to—”

The voices were getting louder. “Rowena, keep that mutt quiet or the entire castle shall hear us!”

“He’s not a mutt – and stop saying my name! Everyone’s going to know we’re here!”

“Oh, both of you, stop talking! Honestly, it’s like you’ve never busted anyone out of prison before…”

“Leliana, obviously we haven’t!”

“That should not make any difference – oh! What happened to these guards?”

Eruestan and Zevran exchanged looks, then opened the dungeon door and stepped out into the landing. “Well, well, well,” Eruestan said, crossing his arms. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Rowena, Morrigan, and Leliana stared at them for a moment, all of their jaws open. “What are – what are _you_ doing here?” Morrigan spluttered, the ball of light in her hands flickering. “You wanted to have him killed!”

“I had a change of heart,” Eruestan said. “Though it’s good to know how seriously our group decisions are taken.”

“I could say the same to you,” Rowena said, crossing her arms. They frowned at each other for a moment, and then broke out into large grins.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Eruestan said, leading them into the dungeons. “The runes on Jowan’s cuffs are melting lockpicks and I don’t know how to open them.”

“Let me try,” Leliana said firmly. “Hello, Jowan!”

“Hi, Perky Orlesian Lady,” Jowan said as Eruestan blasted the bars apart again with a large burst of energy. “Have you done something with your hair? It looks different.”

“I parted it on the other side this morning!” Leliana beamed, bending over his cuffs. “Thank you for noticing! Do you like it?”

“Sure! It frames your face very well.”

“A bit of focus, please,” Rowena said, keeping an eye on the stairs. “So Eruestan, Zev, what exactly were you two doing together before coming down here?”

“Just talking!” Eruestan realized that he had said that too quickly as Rowena began to grin wickedly. “Oh, shut up.”

“ _Ouch_!” Leliana stood up, nursing her fingers. “ _Putain de bordel de merde—_ ”

“Stop!” Morrigan said. “Someone’s coming!”

Eruestan swore loudly. “Leliana, get back here!” He wrenched the bars back into position yet again; this was swiftly getting old. “We have to—”

“Alistair, don’t move so quickly, you’re going to wake up the whole castle!”

“Wynne! Don’t say my name! Everyone will know it’s me!”

“For the love of—,” Eruestan said, pushing open the door again. Alistair and Wynne stood in the hallway, stunned. “Why do we even bother making decisions in the first place?”

Alistair rubbed his neck sheepishly. “At least we all reach the same decisions independently?”

“You too, Wynne?” Rowena asked.

“I’ve had enough of death,” she said simply. “In any case, I felt a little…hypocritical...”

Rowena frowned. “Hypocritical? How?”

 “Well, look, it’s all useless anyways,” Eruestan said, jumping in to save Wynne. Now was not the time to discuss that. “The runes on Jowan’s handcuffs are melting all of our lockpicks, and we don’t know how else to break the locks.”

“Actually, I think I might be able to help with that,” Alistair said. “Here, let me have a go…”

For the last time, Eruestan blasted the iron bars apart, his knees buckling from the loss of energy. Alistair slipped through and bent over Jowan. Within a minute, the mage was free.

“How did you do that?” Eruestan asked. “Leliana and Zevran had no idea what to do!”

“Well, ‘no idea’ is a bit harsh,” Leliana said, frowning.

Alistair shrugged. “It’s one of the few Templar tricks I picked up.”

“How many more Templar tricks can there possibly be?” Rowena asked.

Jowan stood up, rubbing his wrists. “Thank you, all of you,” he said, voice gruff. “I…I don’t deserve to be spared like this.”

Eruestan looked at him for a moment, his heart heavy. “Can I have a moment alone with Jowan, please?” Everyone nodded and left the room, leaving the two alone.

The two former friends stared at each other, silence echoing in the dark dungeons. “I missed you, Eruestan,” Jowan said finally. “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t,” Eruestan said. “I’ve heard enough apologies.” Jowan stared at him for a moment and nodded, his face grim. “Just promise me one thing, Jowan,” Eruestan said. “Use your magic to help people. Ferelden is falling to pieces, and we can’t hold everything together on our own. If you’re able to use magic no one else can, use it to save people who can’t save themselves.”

“I will,” Jowan said. “Thank you, Eruestan – I promise I won’t fail you again.”

Eruestan’s heart was heavy. “Maker be with you, Jowan.”

“And with you, Eruestan.” The mage stepped out of his cage and, hesitating slightly, gave Eruestan a hug before vanishing into the black tunnel. Eruestan stared into the darkness for a moment, then turned back and stepped out into the landing.

“Thank you, everyone,” he said. “I’m…I’m glad I did that.”

“You did the right thing,” Wynne said, grasping his arm. “There was no need for any more suffering.”

He nodded in gratitude. Behind her, Zevran was half-smiling at him, his face covered in shadows. Eruestan smiled back at him, and the assassin quickly disappeared down the hall. Eruestan cleared his throat and turned to the others. “We should turn in,” he said. “Someone might come looking with all the noise.”

“Let’s just hope it isn’t Sten,” Alistair said, making his way up the stairs. “Something tells me he won’t be thrilled with the whole ‘bust a mage out of prison’ thing.”

Eruestan smiled, yet lingered at the bottom of the stairs as the others left. He took one last look down the empty hallway, saying his final goodbye to his oldest friend. _Maker watch over you, Jowan_ , he thought simply.

And with that, he turned back and walked up the stairs.


	31. In the Halls of the Dwarven Kings

Breaking into the farmhouse had been easy. The hard part was figuring out what to take.

“They left almost everything here,” Marta murmured, looking around. The kitchen looked untouched, a pot still hanging over the empty fireplace. Isolated from the rest of the abandoned village, the farmhouse was one of the largest buildings they had looted and was sure to have a hidden store of wealth. “Must have been in a rush.”

Joanna snorted. “Idiots. Take your time going through this place, there may be something valuable hidden here.”

She nodded, ignoring the uneasy feeling on the back of her neck. Looting with Joanna had been fun in the beginning, when people were first fleeing the Blight. After all, Joanna was pretty, the work had been exciting, and there hadn’t been any real sense of danger. Now, however, with the Blight clouds blocking out the sun…

Somewhere in the distance a dog howled; she jumped a good two feet. “Andraste’s ass, what’s the matter with you?” Joanna laughed. “You losing your cool?”

She smiled weakly, wondering how her partner managed to keep her nerve. The sky had turned black weeks ago, accompanied by a stench so hideous it made her sick. Plants were withering in the forests and in the fields, and the rest of the country seemed to be rotting with them. Just yesterday they’d fought off a wolf driven mad by the Taint. Marta had been unable to sleep for the past week, kept awake by the terrible feeling that empty eyes were watching her from the woods.

To be fair, all this had given Joanna pause, too. Just the night before she had said that they’d pack up a caravan and leave by the end of the week. Marta couldn’t wait.

Joanna was rifling through the cabinets, throwing pewter plates into the bag at her feet. “Check that chest, will you?” she asked, pointing to a wooden box under a window. “There may be something important inside.”

She nodded and bent down. The wind outside had picked up, and their horses were whinnying loudly. “Where will we go after this?” she asked, working at the lock. “Denerim, Amaranthine?”

Joanna looked over at her. “I was thinking the Free Marches.”

“The Free Marches?” Marta was shocked. She had never left the Southern Bannorn before, let alone the country.

Seeing the surprise in her eyes, Joanna dropped the plate she was holding and grabbed her in her arms. She felt warm and safe, almost like the fireplace at her grandparents’ cottage. “We don’t want to stay in Ferelden,” she said gently, squeezing her. “This whole country’s going to be swallowed by the Blight. If we can get to Kirkwall or to Ostwick, we’ll be safe.”

Marta smiled. “I don’t know a word of Marcher.”

“ _Guten Tag_ means hello,” Joanna grinned. “We can figure out the rest.”

Then, the horses started to shriek outside. They jumped and looked out the window to see one galloping off into the distance, having burst free of its constraints. “Shite!” Joanna shouted, grabbing her hatchet. “Someone’s running off with the horses!” Marta rushed forward with her mallet, but Joanna pushed her back. “Stay here and wait for my signal,” she said. “You might be able to surprise them.” She nodded and drew back as Joanna headed outside, her hatchet tense.

There was silence, and for a moment all Marta could hear was the beating of her own heart. Then Joanna began to scream, a more blood-curdling, horrific scream than she had ever heard.

Marta’s heart stopped. The screams cut off abruptly, replaced by loud, dull thuds. Something outside was roaring. Struggling to breathe, she began to move forward when something crashed through the front window. It rolled on the floor until it stopped at her feet, eyes dull. Joanna’s head had been severed from her neck, blood dripping on the floor.

Marta screamed. She kept screaming as the darkspawn burst into the farmhouse, the sound echoing over the plains for no one to hear.

The horde had entered the Southern Bannorn.

* * *

Only now was Eruestan really learning why the mountains were called the Frostbacks.

The late autumn snows became thicker and thicker the higher they went; the Bannorn had been tropical comparatively. Eruestan had been cold for so long that he had forgotten what being warm felt like. “Please tell me we’re getting close,” he said, shivering. “I’d like to not be completely covered in frostbite when we get to Orzammar.”

“It can’t be too much farther,” Rowena said, clutching her cloak around her neck. “It’s only halfway up the mountain. Could someone fire me, please?”

He sighed and waved his hand, muttering, “ _Caloro_.” A small ball of flame started hovering over her head. She shuddered in the warmth, then nodded for him to end the enchantment. Maintaining the fire spell would have been too much of a drain – he already had a headache from all the magic he had been casting. “Anyone else need some? Sten?”

The Qunari glared at him for a moment, and then pushed forward. Eruestan followed him uneasily. Sten had been more taciturn than usual ever since they had left Redcliffe, and Eruestan felt he knew why. Everyone else at the castle had believed them when they said Jowan had used blood magic to escape; Sten, however, had seemed less convinced. While this wasn’t necessarily surprising, Eruestan hoped it wouldn’t cause any trouble.

“Well, I for one wouldn’t say no,” Leliana said. Wynne waved her hand and summoned another ball of flame. The bard sighed in relief. “Honestly, I haven’t been this cold since I had to sleep on the roof of Chateau Vaulapenne during Lady Glorianne’s masquerade ball.”

“Tell me, Leliana, how many of these stories do you end up making up on the spot?” Alistair asked.

She grimaced. “Unfortunately, hardly any.” The fire spluttered out. “ _Merde_! How on earth do you people stay warm?”

“I have a few ideas,” Zevran said, winking.

She glared at him. “Zevran, I would literally rather freeze to death.”

“Oh, Leliana, I’m sorry,” Wynne sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Here, I’ll…” She waved her hands once more. Flame flickered over the Orlesian’s head, and then vanished again. “Oh, hell – I’m sorry, it…it must be the cold, it’s making me useless.”

 “Has Alistair just been cold this whole time, then?” Morrigan asked. The knight shot her a withering look and pushed ahead.

Wynne looked pained. “Let me try again…”

“It’s fine, Wynne,” Eruestan said quickly. He quickly waved his hands and summoned a ball of flame over Leliana’s head. He looked over at Wynne quickly, but the enchanter had already pushed ahead with Alistair, her eyes distant.

Zevran sidled up to Eruestan. “Impressive spell work, _bellissimo_. Just watching you cast is highly arousing.”

Eruestan rolled his eyes, although secretly he almost started blushing. Zevran had been paying much more attention to him ever since they had left Redcliffe, and to his great pleasure the assassin had started harassing him just as much as he did the others. “You think everything is highly arousing, Zev.”

The elf winked at him. “Some things more than others, my friend.”

Eruestan’s ears went red. Zevran smirked and walked ahead, whistling gently to himself. Within seconds Rowena had taken his place. “He liiiiikes you,” she sang, grinning evilly.

He shot her a look, his flush immediately gone. “Oh, shut up.”

“He wants to maaaaarry you.”

Eruestan raised an eyebrow. “You think Zevran wants to get married to anyone?”

She considered that for a moment. “Ok, maybe not. He definitely wants to sleep with you, though.”

Eruestan snorted. “Please, Zev wants to sleep with everyone.”

“True, but you’d be his first choice.” She nudged him in the side. “Hey, it’s a good thing! You deserve a little fun!”

He smiled. In the end, he felt she might be right, though it was cocky to admit it. There was no denying that he liked Zevran, and it was nice to hear others suggest that his feelings were shared. Still, it was silly to pretend that the assassin’s attraction to him signified anything more than sexual interest, and for some reason that sat poorly with him. He decided to shift the topic. “And what about you? You deserve fun, too.”

She glanced up at Alistair and smiled. “I really like him, Eruestan.”

“Is that so?” he asked, grinning at her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, blushing. “We haven’t done anything yet.”

“You haven’t?”

“You’re starting to sound like Zevran,” she said. “And besides, it’s not like we’ve had much time. It felt strange trying anything at Redcliffe, and when we’re on the road it’s almost impossible to find time alone together. And anyways, I haven’t had a bath in a week…”

Eruestan wrinkled his nose. His own clothes had been reeking of onions for days. “I don’t blame you there…wait, do you hear something?”

“We’re here!” Alistair called back suddenly. “We’ve reached the trader’s camp!”

They hurried to join the others at the top of the hill. As they reached the summit, Eruestan stopped for a moment and whistled. The path ended at a large clearing surrounded by mountains on all sides. Dwarves, humans, and elves walked around a small shantytown of large canvas tents, all squabbling over wares and keeping warm near giant fire pits. In the distance, two massive doors towered over the camp, almost as tall as the mountains themselves.

“I’ve never been to Orzammar,” Rowena said in awe. “My father said the dwarves can be worse than the Orlesians.”

“The Dwarva can be very particular,” Wynne said, leaning on her staff. “I’ve been here twice to secure lyrium deals for the Chantry – their manners are very different from ours.”

“But the clothes are fantastic!” Leliana said. “Very finely sewn – most of them even have chainmail.”

“Really?” Rowena asked. “Why?”

“Evidently dwarven dinner parties are very dangerous,” Leliana said. “I’ve heard it’s common to have two stabbings before dessert’s served.”

Alistair sighed. “Great – now we can’t even relax at meals.”

The group made its way down to the camp, passing various booths for different merchants. “Ah, leather,” Zevran said suddenly. “I love the smell of leather.”

“No surprise there,” Eruestan said, smiling.

He smiled back and shook his head. “I am not that stereotypical, my friend. I was raised over a leatherworker’s shop – it reminds me of home.”

“Was your father a leatherworker?” Eruestan asked.

“No, I was raised in a brothel.”

Eruestan stared at him.

“On second thought, I may be more stereotypical than I thought.” He scratched his head. “Let me explain: my mother was a whore. Well, no, that is not right – she was Dalish. My father was a woodcutter, and one day she met in him the forests outside Antiva City as he was collecting supplies. She fell in love with him, and she left her clan for him. Unfortunately, he died shortly afterwards. The only solution remaining to her was to sell her body.” He paused. “Granted, she died not much longer after I was born, so these stories are largely based off the words of the other prostitutes…though I have found that there is no one quite as trustworthy as a whore, no? In any case, they were lovely ladies – excellent singers. They even tried to hide me away when the Crows first bought me.”

He said this all with a nonchalance that Eruestan found unnerving. “When was this?”

“When I was seven.” He bent in to look at the belt more closely. “I did not cry much – they beat that out of me as soon as possible.”

Eruestan was at a loss for words. “Zev, that’s horrible!”

“Is it?’ he asked lightly. “I imagine you went through the same ordeal, being sent to your Tower.”

“We were never beaten!”

“Really?” Zevran reflected on that and shrugged. “Hm. Perhaps I should have been a mage, then. Anyways, I do very much like the smell of leather.”

He walked away, not looking back. Eruestan watched him go, his heart sinking down to his knees. While he knew Zevran would never accept anyone’s pity, he couldn’t keep from being horrified at the assassin’s past. He glanced down at the belt Zevran had been eyeing. “How much for this?”

Throwing his purchase into his backpack, he jogged ahead to join Leliana and Alistair. “There really are great things to buy here!” she said. “Look at that necklace, it’s beautiful!”

“ _Merci_.” The Orlesian merchant behind the booth had beady eyes and a cold smile. “A gift for you, _mademoiselle_.” He slid a nightingale made of porcelain across the counter. Each wing bore an elegant ‘M’ crafted out of jade.

“Aw, how pretty!” Alistair cooed. Leliana, however, threw herself across the counter, trying to grab the vendor. He was already gone, however, having vanished into the crowd. “ _Putain de merde!_ ” Enraged, she grabbed the bird and smashed it to the ground.

“Maker’s breath, Leliana!” Alistair grabbed her arm and ushered her forward, looking around at the surly faces staring at them. “You’re going to get us chased out of here with pitchforks!”

She wasn’t listening. “How did she find me? “ she muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. “How did she know I would be here…”

Eruestan remembered the arrow that had been fired at them at Brother Genetivi’s house. “Is this the same woman who attacked us in Denerim?” he asked in alarm.

“She’s not attacking,” she replied, still lost in thought. “We’d know it if she wanted to attack us…No, she just wants me to know that she’s watching…”

Alistair and Eruestan glanced at each other. “Who?”

“Marjolaine,” she spat. Seeing their confused faces, she shook her head and said, “I’ll explain later. We should head into the city.”

She walked ahead with her fists clenched. Alistair and Eruestan exchanged another look. “Do you ever wonder if sooner or later one of these people is going to get us killed?” Eruestan asked.

Alistair shook his head. “All the damn time.” Suddenly there was a roar from in front of them. Sten was holding a dwarf by the collar, having already smashed his booth to bits. “Andraste’s ass!” the knight gasped. “Can we not go five minutes without an incident?”

They ran forward, pushing their way through the crowd. Having already beat them there, Rowena was trying her best to calm the Qunari down. “Where did you find that sword?” he bellowed, swatting her back with his free hand. “Who gave it to you?”

“Master Janar made it!” the merchant shrieked. “I sell his wares topside!”

Sten threw the dwarf to the ground and picked up a longsword that had been lying at his feet. He gave it a few swings, then threw it to the ground in disgust. “This is not Asala.”

“Next time, try to check that before you destroy someone’s stall!” Rowena hissed, looking at the crowd gathering around them.

Sten towered over the merchant. “Where is your master’s store?”

“The Upper Smith’s Ring,” the dwarf gasped, his face white as the snow around him. “He has one of largest shops in the city, you can’t miss it!”

Sten crossed his arms. “This Master Janar has been using my sword as a template for his own wares,” he said, already walking towards the gates. “He has much to answer for when we enter the city.”

“If we get there in one piece,” Alistair muttered, pushing through a crowd of glowering looks. Eruestan followed him uneasily, trying to smile at the surly faces surrounding them. He may not have known much about dwarven culture, but he couldn’t imagine that they looked too kindly upon aggressive outsiders.   

Upon reaching the gates, Eruestan took a look up at the gates and paled. He suddenly started to realize just how massive the dwarven capital had to be. The doors alone were hundreds of feet tall, reaching up at least halfway through the mountain. The faces carved on them were startlingly lifelike, too, the images of menacing kings and queens. A small chill went down his back.

They began to climb the great steps leading to the city’s entrance, their feet crunching in the snow. As they reached the top, though, they discovered they weren’t the only ones trying to enter Orzammar.

“This is ridiculous!” a man was yelling, waving a piece of paper around. He was a tall knight in an impressive suit of armor, accompanied by a squadron of burly bodyguards. “I am on direct orders from the Lord Regent to hand this missive to the King of Orzammar! I will not be pushed aside!”

The guard did not seem impressed. “Serah, I’ve already told you,” she said. “While His Majesty is ill no one is allowed to enter the city without prior invitation, emissaries and ambassadors included.”

“The king’s sick?” Rowena murmured. “That can’t be good.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Well, so long as we can find the remains of a different prophet, we should be fine.”

They pushed their way to the front. “Hello,” Rowena said pleasantly. “I’m afraid my companions and I need access to the city as well.”

The guard sighed and rubbed her temple. “ _Blyat’_ – how many times do we have to tell you people? Until His Majesty recovers no one is allowed in!”

“Allow me to introduce myself,” Rowena said quickly. “I’m Lady Rowena of House Cousland. I come as a representative of the Grey Wardens. We have these treaties that promise Orzammar’s aid during a Blight.”

The guard took the papers, frowning slightly at them. “Grey Wardens, eh?” She peered closely at the treaty. “Sweet Stone, these are ancient…still, it does bear the royal seal…” She turned to her colleague and said something in Dwarven. The other woman sighed and disappeared inside a side door. “Just wait a moment – Frigga’s going to check the protocol book.”

“Is this a joke?” Loghain’s man asked, jaw dropped. “We’ve been waiting here for three weeks!”

“If you want my opinion, you’re probably going to be waiting here for a lot longer,” the guard retorted.

“This is an outrage!” he spluttered. “The Wardens are traitors! I cannot let you allow them to pass!”

“Political squabbles on the Surface mean little to us,” the guard answered. “The Wardens have documents with the royal seat – that counts as an invitation inside to me. Besides, if you think the Dwarva are going to ignore the Grey Wardens in the middle of a Blight, then you’ve got rocks for brains!”

The other guard returned from inside the gates, reading from a large volume. “Book 4: Crises. Part 3: Quarantines. Chapter 17: Illness of the Monarch. Article 48: The Gates. Section 117: The Grey Wardens – Blight. Clause 29: Ancient Treaties. ‘Should the Grey Wardens come to Orzammar in a time of quarantine bearing ancient documents requesting aid during a Blight, the guards on duty are to send them directly to the monarch or the monarch’s regent.’” She looked up from the book. “We should let them in, Ingmar.”

“Excellent.” She turned to the party and smiled. “Welcome to Orzammar, Wardens.” She motioned her hand, and suddenly the gates groaned open, vibrating so heavily the ground shook. Eruestan moved to walk forward, his teeth chattering from the vibrations. Then, someone behind him drew his weapon.

“I won’t let this happen!” the ambassador yelled, spit flying. “I arrest these Wardens in the name of Queen Anora!”

Eruestan and Rowena exchanged a look. The mage snapped his fingers, and the man’s sword went flying through the air. Rowena caught it and tossed it to the ground; Cormac started growling at her side. The man gaped at her, jaw dropped. “No one’s arresting anyone today,” she snarled, drawing her own sword. “Unless anyone wants to object?”

The ambassador’s guards looked at her, back at the ambassador, and then at the rest of the party, eyes lingering on her blade and her growling hound. Visibly paler, they all dropped their weapons.

“That’s what I thought,” Rowena said. “Now go and tell Loghain that if he wants to drag us back in chains, he’s going to need more men than this.”

She turned around and led the party through the gates, ignoring the horrified gasps of the ambassador. A dwarf dressed in fine clothes bustled forward to greet them. “Wardens,” he gasped. “ _Dobra pazhalovat’ na Orzammare_! I am Rolfdir, your personal guide through the city. Have you been to Orzammar before?”

“ _Da, a nedavno_ ,” Wynne said, smiling. “I visited His Majesty a few years ago, to bargain for the Chantry’s shipment of lyrium.”

“Ah.” Rolfdir hesitated. “I would keep this information to yourself. Many in Orzammar view these deals with the Chantry to be a great scandal against the Dwarva. Follow me, please!”

Wynne shook her head as he began to bustle down the stairs into the rest of the city. “Dwarves…they charged us an arm and a leg, and they have the gall to call us swindlers? They astound me.”

“Your Dwarven sounds very good, though,” Leliana said. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“I recommend getting drunk first,” Wynne chuckled. Rolfdir led them down the stairs and onto a small landing flanked by two giant statues. “Oh, everyone, pay attention! The view here is incredible!”

Rolfdir was waiting for them as they approached. “This is the Hall of Heroes,” he said, stretching an arm out onto the massive chamber sprawling before them. “This is the main thoroughfare between Orzammar and the surface, and is the only part of the city where the Dwarva can interact with surface dwellers. The statues lining the street are of the city’s Paragons.”

Eruestan’s eyes widened. The Hall of Heroes was a massive thoroughfare contained in a cavern larger than anything he had ever thought possible. It was essentially an enormous bridge that led to a second set of gates on the other end. Hundreds of dwarves were milling about, most seemingly out for a stroll. Already the noise of chatter and rattling carts and wagons was deafening, enough to make him want to clutch at his ears. Giant statues stood in shallow alcoves along the highway, towering into the shadows near the ceiling. He immediately felt miniscule, an ant looking up at mountains. The sheer size of everything left him speechless.

Leliana did not suffer from the same problem. “This is beautiful!” she gasped, her eyes sparkling. “Who are the Paragons?”

“The Paragons are the greatest of the Dwarva,” Rolfdir replied. “They are inventors, artists, warriors, and politicians; every noble house can trace their descent from one of them. Their presence here sanctifies this hall, which is why dwarves on the surface are permitted here.”

Eruestan observed a group of men and women loading carts near the far entrance. “Are they not allowed elsewhere?”

Wynne shook her head. “The dwarves believe that once you breach the surface, you lose your connection to the Stone. You become casteless, and are only allowed back into the city proper on particular invitation. It’s a cold practice.”

“I will do the explaining from here, if you please,” Rolfdir said, clearly slightly rankled. “Follow me, please.”

The group raced forward, trying to keep pace with the fast-moving dwarf. The dwarves on the thoroughfare stepped deftly out of their way, eyes wide as they looked up at Sten. It was funny that they should be so intimidated; the Paragons were easily twenty times the Qunari’s height. Eruestan glanced up at the closest one as he passed under it. Like the outside gates, its face was far too accurately carved. Whoever it was glared back down at him, practically ready to squash with a stone foot. He shivered and quickly moved forward.

The gates at the other end of the hall were already open. “We will soon be stepping onto the main road in Orzammar, the Aeducan Prospect,” Rolfdir said, walking ahead. “This plaza is Queen Valda Square. As you can see, it provides a lovely view of the whole city.”

The impressive views were getting to be too much; Eruestan felt he needed to sit down. Stretching up to dizzying heights, the mountain holding Orzammar was completely hollow. The city wrapped around the inside in several layers, each bearing several rows of road. The floor of the mountain was a sea of lava that bathed the large stone mansions and stores in a dull orange light. From his view, Eruestan could see all of Orzammar. Already he could tell that the city seemed to be rigidly structured – the higher he looked, the larger and nicer the buildings the seemed. The area they were in was nice enough, full of shops, gardens, and houses.

“These are the Commons, home to the Warrior, Smith, Artisan, Miner, Merchant, and Servants Castes,” Rolfdir said. “These layers are devoted to shops and other areas of commerce. Should you wish to buy anything during your time here, I suggest you come to the stores on this level. Before you across the bridge is the Proving Arena, where the noble fighters of Orzammar combat for glory and honor.” He gestured across the bridge in front of them to a large tower located on an island in the lava sea. “We will be heading to the royal palace, high above the city in the Diamond Quarter.” He then pointed to a grand palace towering above them on the highest level.

“You said the Smiths live in this section?” Sten asked.

Rolfdir nodded. “They are a little higher up – we will pass them on our way to the palace.”

“Then I wish to stop at Master Janar’s store on our way.”

“Impossible,” the dwarf said. “I am to take you straight to the palace, no exceptions.”

Sten bent down and stared the dwarf in the face. “Then make one.”

“It’s ok, Sten,” Rowena said, stepping between them. “We can visit the smith later.” He glared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “All right, Rolfdir, we’re ready – Rolfdir?” The dwarf has already dove into the bustling crowd.

“Maker’s breath!” Rowena said, tearing after him. “Thank the Maker everyone here’s as tall as a ten-year-old – we’d never find him otherwise.”

Some of the dwarves passing by heard her and shot her a nasty look. “It might be best to keep comments about height to ourselves,” Wynne said gently. “Dwarves can be…sensitive…”

The streets were narrow and crowded. Most of the dwarves they passed were dressed finely, wearing bright silks and flashing metals. Men and women kept their hair in intricate braids piled on top of their heads, and exquisite jewelry sparkled from every neck, wrist, and finger. As they pushed their ways through, more and more people began looking at them suspiciously.

“They’re not very friendly here, are they?” Leliana asked after a man holding several strange animals in a cage nearly knocked her over. “Oh, look! Did any of you see those animals? They looked like little bunny-pigs!”

“I think that’s a nug,” Wynne said, wrinkling her nose. “Vile creatures – their legs end in hands, you know…oh, a tavern! Have any of you ever tried dwarven ale?”

A red-haired dwarf with a gnarled beard stumbled out the door and threw up onto the street. “I’m not sure I want to,” Eruestan said, stepping around him.

“Hey, lady,” the dwarf groaned, grabbing his head. “Nice rack.”

“A fellow appreciator of Wynne’s lovely bosom!” Zevran cried. “How do you manage so many admirers?”

“I generally prefer mine to be less covered in their own vomit,” Wynne said in disgust. “And Zevran? Stop. Talking. About. My. Bosom.”

He shrugged. “You’ll come around. Though to be honest, there is nothing more attractive than a dwarf – don’t you agree, Eruestan?”

Eruestan smiled, though the comment sat a little poorly on his mind. “I don’t know many dwarves,” he said. “I’ll have to get back to you.”

They finally caught up with Rolfdir, who was busy checking a series of papers through a team of guards underneath an impressive set of gates. “Ah, there you are,” he chided, glancing back up at them. “Do try to stay close to me, the city is remarkably crowded at this time of day.”

“How do you even know it’s day?” Alistair asked in wonder, looking around the city. “Do you all just count all the hours?”

The guards and Rolfdir looked at him in dismay.

“Well, the city is remarkably clean,” Leliana said quickly. “You must have a wonderful program for taking care of the poor.”

“Oh, we do, to be sure,” Rolfdir said. The guards handed him back his papers and beckoned them through. “Now please, keep your voices down. We are entering the Diamond Quarter.”

The higher they climbed up the city, the wider the streets became, and the nicer the houses. The crowds thinned as well, to the point that the city became rather quiet. “Where is everyone?” Alistair asked.

“Most of the city’s nobility is outside the palace, attending to the king,” Rolfdir replied. “You will wait with them until I can send word to Lord Harrowmont.”

They turned a corner and stepped into a large plaza. True to his word, a large crowd was gathered outside the palace that stretched to the heights of the city. “Lord Harrowmont?” Rowena asked. “Who’s that?”

“He is King Endrin’s second,” the dwarf replied. “While the king is ill, he has taken charge of the city. Now wait here, if you please – I will fetch His Lordship.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment at the back of the crowd, looking around at the splendor surrounding them. The dwarven palaces were covered in intricate carvings and precious stones, all glimmering in the light from the lava that shone throughout the capital. “It really is a beautiful city,” Leliana said. “Though all that lava must make people nervous.”

“I’m just surprised it doesn’t smell awful,” Alistair remarked. “All these dwarves, cooped up in this hole? I was expecting a sewage pit.”

“Watch your words, Topsider,” a noblewoman near them said, turning around sharply. “The Dwarva do not take kindly to insults from the Stoneless.”

He blinked. “Oh, no, no, no, I wasn’t trying to insult you, it was a logistics question, honest!” She shot him a withering look and turned back to face the doors. “You know, I’m starting to think they should have really added ‘tact’ to the Warden training regiment.”

“We’re not going to defeat the Archdemon with polite conversation,” Rowena said, scanning the crowd. “Maker, I hope he hurries up. I hate dealing with crowds of nobles. I feel like a debutante again.”

“I always wanted to be a debutante,” Leliana said wistfully. “I still remember the first ball I went to—the dresses were incredible.”

“What were you doing there, if you weren’t dancing?” Alistair asked. “Unless I don’t want to know?”

She shrugged. “One of the girl’s fathers needed to be seduced. We figured it was the best time to try.”

He sighed. “I really should learn to stop asking questions.”

Eruestan smirked, then grabbed Rowena’s arm. “Everyone, look! Rolfdir’s coming back!”

“Forgive me, Wardens,” the dwarf panted. “His Lordship will be with you in a few moments. In the meantime, might I interest you in a tour of the Diamond Gardens? It’s the finest collection of cut stones in all of Thedas.”

Suddenly, there was a tense rustling from the front of the crowd as somewhere inside the palace a woman began wailing. Cormac drew back his lips and snarled. “What’s going on?” Rowena asked sharply.

The doors to the palace burst open, and a young man ran out. “The King is dead!” he yelled. “Long live King Pyral!”

A series of gasps rippled through the crowd. “Lord Harrowmont doesn’t deserve the crown!” the noblewoman in front of them yelled. “It belongs to Prince Bhelen!”

The doors were opening again; two men came out, followed by a large group of dwarves. “These aren’t surface politics!” a dignified man with a beard was yelling. “The king nominates a successor, and the Assembly votes on it! Your blood means nothing!”

“And who’s to say who my father nominated?” the younger man with him yelled back. “You were alone with him on his deathbed – he could have said anything!”

Two groups were forming as if by instinct, split in the center of the plaza. The Wardens stood in the middle at the back, feeling rather out of place. “What sort of powergrabber is Harrowmont?” someone yelled. “House Aeducan has ruled Orzammar for centuries!”

“And King Endrin didn’t even trust his own son!” someone else yelled. “Harrowmont has managed the city for years, he knows what to do!”

“You’ll pay for this, Harrowmont!” Prince Bhelen yelled. “By the Stone, I’ll—”

“Deshyrs, please!” a man said, stepping between the two groups. “This decision belongs with the Assembly! Stop this squabbling and let us mourn the king!”

A man in full armor stepped out from behind the prince. “How dare you interrupt King Bhelen?” he bellowed.

It was over before Eruestan was fully aware what was happening. The armored man pulled out a war axe and slammed it into the other dwarf’s neck, sending a fountain of blood spraying into the air. The other nobles shrieked and dispersed while Harrowmont’s men encircled their master, their weapons drawn. The two rivals glared at each other for a moment, shooting daggers across the square. Then, the prince motioned to his followers and retreated back into the palace.

The Wardens stood with their jaws dropped. “Uh…Lord Harrowmont?” Eruestan asked.

The dwarf glanced up at them, drawing a silk handkerchief out of his pocket. “Ah, Grey Wardens,” he said, wiping the blood off his face. “Welcome to Orzammar.”

 


	32. Never Do Business with Dwarves

“Is there any part of the world that isn’t falling to pieces?” Alistair asked, staring wide-eyed at the pool of blood seeping onto the stone floor.

“What the hell was that about?” Rowena gasped, walking forward. “Did he really just kill that man?”

“Standard practice, really,” Lord Harrowmont said, pocketing his kerchief. He was a very stately-looking man with a thick gray beard and piercing blue eyes. “We like to call it the ‘Orzammar Veto’.”

“You’re acting awfully blasé about this,” Wynne said, bending over the dead man. “You were almost killed!”

He shrugged. “You don’t last long in Orzammar, getting excited about things like that. But no matter – I understand you’ve come here with treaties asking for support?”

Rowena nodded as she pulled them out. “They promise the King of Orzammar’s aid in the event of a Blight.”

“I’m sure they do, my lady,” Harrowmont said. “Unfortunately, it might be a while before there is a King of Orzammar to lend you that support.”

“How long is a while?” Eruestan asked, frowning.

Harrowmont sighed. “Follow me, Wardens. We can discuss this at my estate.”

His Lordship led them to an equally large building right next to the royal palace.

Eruestan stared at it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Harrowmont grunted. “My estate may not be as large as the royal palace, but I don’t think eight scruffy travelers and a flea-bitten dog have room to complain.”

“Hey!” Rowena said, ruffling Cormac’s head. “And that’s not what he meant! You live next door to the man who tried to kill you!”

“Ah.” He shrugged. “All my neighbors have tried to kill me. Follow me, please.”

The group walked through the front doors into a large vestibule filled with servants. The ceiling was tall, which surprised Eruestan; he had assumed that the dwarves would be used to small spaces. Glowing crystals dangled from the ceiling and giant carved murals decorated the walls. Music was gently wafting through the air, though he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The servants all bowed before them, eyes narrowing slightly as the Wardens walked past.

 Harrowmont led them down a hallway and into his office, a spacious room with a lofty ceiling. “So, Wardens, let’s discuss these treaties,” Harrowmont said, sitting behind his desk. “What exactly are its terms?”

Rowena laid the treaties on the desk. “Everything’s laid out pretty clearly,” she said. “Orzammar is obligated to lend its full support to the Wardens in the war effort against the Blight.”

“Full support?” The dwarf shook his head. “No, no, we can’t afford that.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Using the men for a different Blight?”

He glared at her. “Orzammar is always in the middle of a Blight. The darkspawn pour out of the Deep Roads, you know. We can’t spare the manpower.”

“I think you can manage it somehow,” Eruestan said. “Unless you want your men fighting the horde in the streets of the city?”

He conceded the point. “All the same, we can only devote 60% of our forces.”

Rowena shook her head. “90%.”

He leaned forward. “70%.”

“85%.”

“80%.”

Rowena jumped forward and grabbed his head. “Sounds great,” she said, shaking it vigorously. “Lovely doing business with you.”

“Get it in writing,” Wynne said, already jotting down the deal on a piece of parchment. “And once he signs, we’ll need to take this to the Shaperate – they’ll make sure it’s respected.”

“The Shaperate?” Eruestan asked.

“It records all events and transactions in Orzammar,” she said, finishing with a flourish. “Once something’s registered there, there’s no way to get around it.”

Harrowmont sighed and pulled out a quill. “I see you’ve done business with us before.”

Wynne nodded, sliding the parchment over. “I was with the last lyrium commission for the Fereldan Chantry.”

“Ah,” he said, signing the paper, “so you were part of the group that screwed us out of the best lyrium harvest we’ve had in decades.”

Wynne gasped. “We negotiated that deal for weeks with Lord Gardor!”

“Which is why House Gardor has been removed from the Assembly and stripped of its noble status.” Harrowmont finished signing and sent it across the desk. “There you are – signed cooperation from the King of Orzammar.”

Eruestan was stunned it had been that easy. “Fantastic! When can we expect your armies to join us?”

Harrowmont leaned back in his chair. “The instant you help me get elected king.”

There was silence in the room. “Never do business with a dwarf,” Wynne sighed.

“What do you mean, get you elected king?” Rowena asked. “How exactly are we supposed to go about doing that?”

“Easy,” he replied. “The Grey Wardens carry a lot of weight, even among the Dwarva. If you declare yourselves for me, I’d be that much closer to the throne.”

“I think you’re grossly overestimating our knowledge of dwarven politics,” Alistair said. “As well as grossly underestimating my ability to accidentally offend people.”

“So keep quiet and let the others do the talking.” The dwarf pointed to the treaty. “That document can only be used by the King in Orzammar. Wait for the Assembly to make a decision, and you’ll be here long after the Blight wipes Ferelden off the earth. Help me to the crown, and you’ll already have a Shaperate-approved agreement with the monarchy.”

“But we don’t know anything about how things work here!” Eruestan said. “How are we supposed to help you?”

“With the right direction, quite easily,” the dwarf said. “Take tonight, for example: there’ll be a reception to mourn King Endrin, and all the city’s nobility will be there. If they see any of my men, they’ll turn as quiet as the Stone. They see you, however…well, with enough ale in their bellies, who knows what they’ll spill.”

“Will we be welcome at this reception?” Leliana asked. “I get the impression that surfacers aren’t viewed in the best light here.”

Harrowmont waved his hand. “Trivial – dignitaries of your status will be welcome wherever you go. Besides, as my personal guests you’ll be treated better than almost anyone else there.”

“Is that an invitation?” Eruestan asked, smiling.

“Of course it’s an invitation,” the dwarf replied. “In the meantime, your guide will show you to the Warden House in the Diamond Quarter. You’ll have a few hours before the event starts.”

The group stood up. “Thank you, Your Lordship,” Rowena said, nodding her head. “Your generosity is greatly appreciated.”

“Don’t call it generosity.” Harrowmont leaned back in his chair. “Disappoint me, Wardens, and you’ll live to regret it.”

Eruestan frowned slightly and walked out of the room. Dwarves were certainly blunt.

Rolfdir was waiting for them in the lobby. “The Warden House is not far from here,” he said. “Do keep an eye on the streets – the city may prove dangerous at the moment.”

“Is there anywhere left in the world that wouldn’t?” Alistair asked. There was a pause. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question.”

“I hear Par Vollen’s really lovely,” Leliana said. “Is that true, Sten?”

He snorted. “None of you would last more than five minutes in Par Vollen.”

Roldir seemed to be ignoring them. “During your stay here, you’ll each have your own personal chambers,” he said, walking up to a nice townhouse with a good view of the city. “You will also have the servants that accompany them. Feel free to request anything from the kitchens; I would recommend seared nug with a mushroom sauce.”

“Nugs?” Leliana looked horrified. “You mean you _eat_ the bunny-pigs? That’s horrible!”

Rolfdir nodded. “They are quite disgusting creatures, that is true,” he said. “Fortunately, they do cook very well, and you can always ask to have the hands cut off.” He led them inside the front door. The foyer was much smaller than Harrowmont’s, but still very beautiful. A large staircase led to a second floor. “The chambers are upstairs –

 each has a bathtub and other facilities.”

Rowena, Alistair, and Leliana shivered in anticipation. “ _Baths_.”

A pretty serving girl walked past. “Tell me, good fellow,” Zevran asked, eyeing her. “What is the guest policy here?”

“You may invite whomever you wish,” Rolfdir replied. “Though I trust you will not do anything to tarnish the name of either the Wardens or the Dwarva.”

Zevran was now making eyes at two burly serving men. “I will be the soul of discretion, my friend.”

Eruestan was not amused. “Thank you, Rolfdir,” he said. “I think we’d like to relax for a while now.”

“Of course.” He clapped his hands. “ _Vyeshchi_!” A small army of servants appeared at the top of the stairs. “Prepare baths for our guests! They reek of old cheese.”

“Hey, that’s…actually kind of fair,” Alistair said, sniffing himself. The servants bowed and entered the rooms up above. “Put a lot of soap in that, please!”

Rolfdir bowed. “Wardens, I take my leave of you. A courier will come for you when the reception begins. Until then, enjoy your rooms.” He turned around abruptly and walked away.

Alistair went into a small living room off the lobby and threw himself onto a couch; Cormac jumped up next to him. “So this place is crazy,” he said, glancing at the murals of dwarves hacking into each other with axes that adorned the walls.

“Violence has always been a part of dwarven politics,” Wynne said, sitting down in the nearest armchair. “I never understood why. Enough things are trying to kill them as it is.”

“But what do we think of Harrowmont?” Eruestan asked. “Do you think he’d be a good ally?”

Rowena sat down next to Cormac and scratched his head. “He’s a bit… _blunt_ ,” she said, furrowing her eyebrows. “I’m not used to that kind of behavior among nobles.”

“I think all dwarves must be like that,” Leliana said. “Can you believe that they eat those bunny-pigs? It’s abominable!”

“I agree,” Alistair said. “Wynne’s right, did you see that their legs end in hands? Creepy.”

“That’s not what I meant, Alistair!” Leliana cried. “They’re adorable!”

Rowena shook her head. “Everyone, let’s focus—”

“Thank you, Rowena, I was just about to say the same thing,” Zevran said. “Has no one else noticed how remarkably attractive our dwarven friends are?”

Eruestan stopped smirking. “That’s not what she meant,” he said abruptly, inexplicably feeling a bit miffed. “Should we work with Harrowmont?”

“He’s a competent administrator,” Wynne said. “I had a few interactions with him during the last lyrium deal. He’s trustworthy, at least so long as you follow Orzammar’s rules.”

“And he seems marginally saner than his rival,” Morrigan said. “At the very least, we have yet to see him kill his own enemies in cold blood.”

“Give him a week,” Wynne sighed. “Though that’s true, he does seem to be slightly more level-headed than the prince’s associates.”

“But would he be a better ally?” Alistair asked, letting Cormac lick his face. “Yeah, that Prince Baylott might seem crazy, but this place is like Crazy City, you know? Maybe they need someone loony.”

“It’s ‘Bhelen’,” Leliana said. “And I think Alistair’s right, at least to some extent. It doesn’t matter who’s crazier, what’s important is who has more support in the city.”

“It seemed like a toss-up out in the crowd,” Rowena said. “Who do we support in that case?”

“The most capable,” Sten said.

“The most popular,” Leliana said.

“The most attractive,” Zevran said.

“The best singer!” Alistair said. Everyone turned to stare at him. “Er…sorry. I thought we were just saying things.”

Eruestan sighed. “Whomever we end up siding with, we won’t make our decision now. Let’s just get ready for this reception and see what we think at the end of the night.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Rowena said, leaping off the couch. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s a bathtub upstairs that’s been calling my name.”

Zevran was right behind Eruestan. “Shall we place bets on who can seduce a dwarf first, my friend? I have no doubt that you would be a worthy competitor…”

For some reason, Eruestan was wounded. Hardly sure of what he was doing himself, he shot the assassin a dark look. Zevran looked taken aback; not bothering to say anything, Eruestan walked away up the stairs. He suddenly wanted some time alone.

* * *

 The bathtub in his chamber was large and smooth, carved from marble and filled with steaming hot water. It was incredibly luxurious, a tub fit for a king. Eruestan, however, was having trouble relaxing.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to help bathe you, Your Excellency?” Gorran, his male servant, asked.

“We are also skilled masseuses, if that would please you, Your Excellency,” his female companion Pemma said from his side.

Eruestan blushed and curled up tighter in the bathtub, shielding his body from view. “I’m fine,” he said. “In fact, I’d like to get out now.”

“Of course.” The two held up a thick robe; he sprang up and wrapped himself in it, shying away from them. “Is there anything else you need, Your Excellency?” Pemma asked.

“Anything else at all?” Gorran repeated, placing a hand on the elf’s waist.

The look in the servants’ eyes did not quite match the tones of their voices. Eruestan suddenly felt a little sick. “No, that will be all,” he said, stepping away from them. “I can dress myself, thank you.”

They bowed. “There are clothes for you in the wardrobe, Your Excellency,” Pemma said. “Let us know if there is anything else we can do.”

“Thank you.” He waited until they left the room, then shuddered. Orzammar really was Crazy City.

The wardrobe was filled with the same flashy clothing the other dwarves wore, somehow already tailored to his size. He pulled out a dark-blue silk tunic with a silver breastplate and matching blue trousers. The fabric felt smooth against his body, while the weight of the breastplate gave him an added sense of security. He imagined that was hard to come by in Orzammar. Throwing his bag on the bed, he opened it and picked up the belt he had bought at the market. He hoped Zevran would like it.

Someone knocked on his door. “Can I come in?” Alistair asked from the other side.

Eruestan threw the belt down and opened the door. “Hurry, before my servants start thinking I’m summoning them.”

“Maker’s breath, did it happen to you too?” Alistair shook his head as he sat down on Eruestan’s bed. “Mine practically accosted me. How much you want to bet that Zevran’s already had a foursome?”

Again, for reasons he couldn’t explain, Eruestan bristled at this statement. “These servants don’t have any choice, Alistair,” he said hotly. “Zev would never take advantage of someone like that. He actually is really respectful.”

Alistair threw up his hands. “Hey, hey, don’t jump down my throat! I’m only making a tasteless joke at your boyfriend’s expense.”

Eruestan rolled his eyes. “Oh, not you, too.”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Oh, come one, I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking – and hey, be proud! He’s an attractive man.”

Eruestan smiled. “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to start competing for him with you, now.”

“You’re hilarious,” Alistair said drily. “But actually, that’s kind of what I want to talk with you about.”

He was stunned. “Oh! Uh, Alistair, I…I didn’t know you felt like that…”

“I don’t!” he said hastily. “I mean, not like I think it’s wrong or anything – not like anyone _would_ , you know – and it’s not like it’s something that’s even able to be wrong – oh, for Maker’s sake, you know I’m with Rowena!”

“But you _want_ to be with Zevran?”

“No, that’s not what I’m – you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Maybe just a little,” Eruestan said, grinning. “But what do you want to talk about?”

Alistair had turned scarlet. “I was actually wondering if Rowena…had ever told you what she’d…like…”

Eruestan frowned. “Like, as a present? Because she did say that she needed to get her sword sharpened.”

“That’s not what I meant…though that’s actually a good idea, thank you…” He coughed, blushing even further. “I was really talking about…other things…”

“Oh.” It took Eruestan a second to process. “ _Oh_!” Now it was his turn to blush furiously.

“Not so loud!” Alistair hissed. “Everyone will hear you!”

“Maker’s breath, you’re asking me what Rowena likes in bed?” The knight somehow managed to turn even redder. “Honestly, Alistair, if you can’t even say ‘in bed’…”

“I can say it!” he said. “I just don’t have a lot of experience in this stuff!”

Eruestan looked at him in horror. “What makes you think I’d know?”

“I don’t know!” Alistair said desperately. “You’re always talking to each other!”

“Yes, but about the Blight! Or our troubled pasts!”

“Well, I didn’t know that!” He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, would you be able to guess?”

“No! Ask someone else!”

“I did!” he said. “Leliana got teary-eyed and gave me way too much information to process, Zevran offered to demonstrate his techniques on me, and Wynne spent fifteen minutes giving me a stern lecture about where babies comes from.”

Eruestan frowned. “You didn’t know that before?”

“Of course I did!”

“Well, good.” Eruestan paused. “You could ask Morrigan?”

They looked at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Maker, she’d castrate me first,” Alistair laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Thank you, I needed that.”

“Any time.” They sat in silence for a moment, chuckling. “So,” Eruestan said, a little awkward, “have you…?”

“Have I what?”

Eruestan narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be cute.”

The knight looked obnoxiously innocent. “No, what are you talking about? Have I ever what?”

“Alistair…”

“Have I ever…been to Orlais? Have I ever tried on a hat? Have I ever licked a lamppost in winter?”

“I’ll tell you what you can do to a lamppost—”

“Charming,” Alistair said. “And for your information, no, I haven’t. Templar initiates are actively encouraged to stay away from lampposts, in fact. What about you?”

He shook his head. “Not really, at least. Someone took me out into a hallway once during a party – it was very awkward and we ended up getting interrupted.”

Alistair grimaced. “Why do I feel like that’s going to happen to me?”

Someone else knocked at the door. “Oh, there you are!” Rowena said, walking in with Cormac at her side. She was wearing a light green dress decorated with gold filigree and chainmail. Her hair was out of its ponytail and down her back; someone had made two small braids and done them up in an intricate design. She looked beautiful. “What are you two talking about?”

Alistair shot up from the bed. “Rocks!” he said, his voice cracking. “And lava! And other…dwarvy…things!” Eruestan and Rowena stared at him in alarm. “I have to go!” He raced out of the room, making Cormac whine softly.

Rowena turned around. “Has he been possessed?”

“Only by his hormones,” Eruestan sighed. “He was asking how to…er… _please_ you.”

She paused. “Well, I mean, he could go get my sword sharpened for me…”

Eruestan smirked. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What do you… _oh_!” She sat down abruptly. “Well, what makes him think you’d know about that?”

“It’s Alistair,” Eruestan said. “You should count yourself lucky he didn’t go ask Sten.”

“He should be asking me!” she said. “Maker’s breath, we haven’t had any time to ourselves since Redcliffe, if he wants to sleep with me he should just ask!”

“Good luck with that; he could hardly talk about it with me.” Eruestan paused. “You haven’t…licked a lamppost, have you?”

She frowned at him. “Licked a what?”

“Forget that,” he said quickly. “What I mean to say is, have you ever…you know…”

“Slept with anyone?” He nodded. “No,” she said, “I’ve never really had the opportunity. That doesn’t mean I’m afraid of it, or talking about it, for that matter.”

“You’re not afraid of anything,” Eruestan said. “I, however, am very afraid. Zevran’s so...experienced…”

She grinned. “First off, I’m glad we’re finally admitting you have a thing for Zevran, and second off, who cares! You’ll never get experience with that attitude! And I doubt Zevran will care.” She paused. “No, actually, I’m _sure_ Zevran won’t care.”

He grinned. “You know, there are times when I wish I was more like you.”

“Everyone should be more like me.” There was a pause. “But seriously, licking a lamppost?”

Someone coughed from the doorway. “Your Excellencies?” a dwarf asked, bowing from the doorway. “The reception will be beginning shortly.”

“Already?” Rowena asked in surprise. “Maker, time flies when you’re well-bathed.”

“But anyways, what do you think I should do about it?” Eruestan murmured, smiling uneasily at the servant. “Should I say anything to him?”

“Just be blunt with him,” she suggested. “He certainly is with everyone else.”

The others were pouring into the room. Everyone was wearing formal clothes, all done in the dwarven style. “Oh, Morrigan, you look lovely!” Leliana cooed; she wore a pink silk dress and had her hair piled on top of her head. “We should have gowns made for you while you’re here!”

The witch had exchanged her normal ragged clothing for a slim deep blue dress and wore her long black hair down for the first time Eruestan had seen it. “They forced me to change,” she said coldly. “This will not become a habit.” Eruestan noticed she was still wearing the gold necklace he had seen earlier, slightly undermining her supposed lack of interest.

“They even found something for you, Sten?” Rowena asked, looking at his green clothes. “I can’t imagine the last time a Qunari came down here.”

Sten looked thoroughly uncomfortable. “I pity him.”

“If you’d kindly follow me,” the dwarf said, glaring slightly at Sten. He led them down the stairs to the main hallway, where Harrowmont and his entourage were waiting for them.

“Wardens,” he said. “I trust you’re well-rested.”

“Of course,” Rowena said, curtseying. “Our quarters are lovely, Your Lordship, we were highly—”

“Come along, then, the Stone isn’t getting any younger.” Harrowmont had already turned around and begun leading his party out the doors.

“If he were in Orlais,” Leliana whispered, eyes narrowed, “he’d be locked in a stock and children would be throwing rotten fruit at him.”

“Let’s get to Orlais as soon as possible, then,” Rowena said through gritted teeth. “I wonder where this reception is going to be.”

“Hopefully as far away from that Prince Bayonet as possible,” Alistair muttered.

Harrowmont led them out the door and into the entrance of the royal palace.

“I hate this city,” Alistair said as they followed him through.

“This may be a blessing in disguise,” Leliana said. The lobby was of a similar layout to Lord Harrowmont’s, only slightly grander and taller. The crowd was thick and boisterous, a practical herd of people trying to get through a large archway. “With both candidates present, people are likely to be far more willing to gossip to each other.”

“How do we get them to gossip to us, though?” Eruestan asked.

“I have a plan for that,” she replied. “We should split into three groups – the fewer the people, the more likely other are going to want to talk to us. Since Wynne, Rowena, and I are the only ones with any knowledge of the dwarves or nobles, we should be the leaders.”

“I’ll take Alistair,” Rowena said quickly. Eruestan shot her a look that she refused to acknowledge.

“And I’ll take Eruestan and Morrigan,” Wynne said, smiling; she looked stunning in her red gown. “I think it’ll be nice to bond together as mages.”

Leliana looked less than thrilled. “And that leaves me with Sten and Zevran.”

“Do not sound so enthusiastic, my friend, else you will lead me on,” Zevran said drily. “By the by, I may spend more time ogling the guests than searching for information.” He winked at a passing noble couple, who flushed and hurried forward.

“Zev, we need you to pay attention,” Eruestan snapped, again annoyed for no real reason. The assassin looked very handsome in red, too. “This isn’t the time for jokes.”

The assassin raised an eyebrow. “As you wish, Eruestan.”

“Very well, then,” Leliana said. “Good luck, everyone.”

* * *

 Rowena couldn’t deny that it was a lovely room. The reception hall was huge, filled with chatting nobles and small tables covered in food and drink. As she was a good two feet taller than everyone else there, she could easily see the bier in the center of the room, where the former king’s body lay out for all to view. She shuddered slightly at the sight; funerals gave her the creeps.

Harrowmont led them through the room, stopping next to the king’s bier. “Prince Bhelen,” he said, nodding at the young man standing next to the platform. “How nice to see you again.”

The prince scowled. “Lord Harrowmont – come to leech off my father’s spotlight for the last time, I presume?”

“What need have I for that, Your Highness?” Harrowmont gestured to the party. “Have you met my guests, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden?”

Bhelen’s scowl deepened, though he did bow to them. “Wardens,” he said, “it is an honor. Tell me, how in the Stone did you manage to associate yourselves with scum like Harrowmont here?”

Again, Rowena was taken aback by his bluntness. Harrowmont, however, rolled his eyes and said, “Wardens, I’ll leave you to it. The air here has gotten thick with idiocy.” He left, leading his own party to the side of the room.

The Wardens were left alone awkwardly with the prince. Rowena glanced at Leliana and curtseyed. “Your Highness,” she said, head bowed. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, no one’s going to miss him,” Bhelen said, waving her off. “Tell me seriously, though, what could have possessed you to join forces with that traitor? Do you really think he’s a better choice?”

“Honestly?” Alistair said. “He got to us first.”

“Alistair!” Leliana hissed. “We are but guests in Orzammar, Your Highness,” she said humbly. “We shall support whoever can help up in the Blight.”

“You’ll be here for a while, then,” the prince said. “Enjoy the night – come speak to me if you want a second opinion.”

The prince and his entourage left to the other side of the room; the Wardens turned to face the crowd. “Alistair and I will go by that statue,” Rowena said. “There seems to be a lot of people there.”

“Good idea,” Leliana said. “I’ll send someone over if we need you.”

The two of them made their way through the room, ignoring the hostile looks the other attendees were giving them. “Sweet Andraste, I’m glad to be away from that bier,” Rowena confessed. “I hate seeing dead bodies.”

“You hate seeing dead bodies?” Alistair asked in surprise. “I’ve seen you kill more people than anyone else I’ve ever met!”

She smiled at him. “I’m a highly intriguing woman.”

“There’s no denying that.” He flushed under her gaze and looked down to the floor.

She felt a little fuzzy inside, too. “So, who should we start talking to?”

 Alistair looked around the crowd. “How about the old man over there?”

Rowena glanced where he had gestured and shook her head. “Reminds me of my old tutor – what about that lady next to the wine fountain?”

“Seems easy enough.” They walked over to her, their silks rustling over the stone floors. She was a well-dressed dwarf whose hair was piled precariously on top of her head. She was talking animatedly to her friends in Dwarven; as they approached, her group fell silent.  

“My lady,” Rowena said with a curtsey. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Rowena of House Cousland, and this is my fellow Grey Warden, Alistair.”

“A pleasure,” the lady said, curtsying as well. “I am Lady Dace. You’re very welcome in Orzammar.”

“Thank you,” Rowena said, grabbing two cups of wine and handing one to Alistair. “A very sad occasion, unfortunately.”

The lady shrugged. “Kings come and kings go; what’s important now is who comes next.”

“And who do you think that will be?” Alistair asked, sniffing his drink.

Lady Dace smiled at them, her eyes glinting coldly above her wine glass. “I’m not usually one to say, but…” She looked around and took a large swig of wine. “It’s no secret that Prince Bhelen has promised House Dace the Gardor estate. Good things will happen to us if an Aeducan stays on the throne.”

“It’s a big estate, then?” Rowena asked.

“Huge,” she said, taking another drink of wine. “Gardor was an idiot, throwing away lyrium like he did. Oh well – no use weeping over split Stone, after all.”

“Very true,” Rowena said. “It was nice to speak with you, Lady Dace.”

They bowed and moved to the other side of the statue. “That was surprisingly easy,” Alistair said. “Do you think everyone’s going to want to spill their secrets to us?”

“Something tells me that was the wine speaking,” Rowena said. “I’ll take it, though.”

“Maker, I hate these kind of things,” Alistair said. “All the small talk and the manners – I’ll be lucky if I get out of here alive.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m a veteran of these things – I’ll keep you safe.” She winked at him and suddenly felt her heart flutter. “You know, if you want to get out of here early…”

“Yeah?” His cheeks flushed, but he seemed eager. “Do you have an escape route?”

She glanced around. “You know, no one’s really paying us any attention…we could just—”

“Grey Wardens!” They turned around to see Lady Dace approaching at the head of a large group of nobles. She slurred something in Dwarven to the others. “I just wanted to introduce you to a few acquaintances,” she hiccupped. “Everyone, these are my dear friends, the Grey Wardens!”

Rowena scowled to herself as she curtsied. It was going to be a long night.

Meanwhile, Eruestan was busy being completely ignored by the majority of the dwarven nobility. “Are we doing something wrong?” he asked, looking at the crowd.

“We’re not dwarves,” Wynne said, shaking her head. “Wait until they get drunk enough to want to talk to us again.”

A group of nobles passed by, eyeing them suspiciously and muttering to each other in Dwarven. “That’s another thing I don’t understand,” Eruestan said. “Have you noticed that everyone here speaks Fereldan until they notice we’re in earshot?”

“It’s a sign of status,” Wynne said. “Everyone in the merchant caste and higher is expected to speak Fereldan and Orlesian perfectly, it’d be embarrassing not to. Still, they’d rather go Topside than try to communicate with us.”

“What strange people,” Morrigan said. “And I thought humans were difficult.”

Wynne shrugged. “It’s all a matter of different manners. People are particularly hostile now, though, because the king’s dead. Nothing makes people more tense than a succession crisis.”

“Just like on the surface,” Eruestan murmured.

She nodded. “Though it’s different here. We humans love the idea of a dynasty – the monarch of Ferelden in particular draws a lot of power from the fact that he or she descends from King Calenhad. In Orzammar, however, every noble house is descended from a Paragon, so it’s the Assembly that appoints the new king or queen. It’s true that House Aeducan has held the throne for generations, however – that sort of stability may prove appealing when the time comes to vote.” All of a sudden, she went pale and stumbled. Eruestan grabbed her before she fell to the ground.

“Wynne!” he gasped. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, eyes closed. “Just…a little dizzy…I’m fine…” She stood up again, color returning to her face. “It’s…stuffy in this room, that’s all.” Eruestan glanced at Morrigan. The witch was looking at them suspiciously, her eyes half-closed.

There was a disturbance in the crowd in front of them. They looked over to see Sten blazing a trail through the nobles, Leliana following close behind. “It’s a nice party, isn’t it?” she asked, coming up to them. “Have you tried the mushrooms? They’re divine.”

“I haven’t,” Eruestan said. “Heard anything?”

She shook her head. “Nothing too important. We met someone named Lord Helmi who told us that the prince had promised his house the old Gardor estate in exchange for his support, but beyond that, most people have been ignoring us.”

“Same here,” he replied. “Where’s Zevran? Is he finding food?”

Sten grunted. “Not exactly.”

Eruestan didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

Leliana shot Sten a look and looked back at Eruestan awkwardly. “Zevran has made…some friends,” she said carefully.

“Miracles do happen, it seems.”

“What sort of friends?” Eruestan asked, ignoring Morrigan.

The bard sighed. “He decided to take someone home with him.” She hesitated. “Five someones, in fact.”

“Oh.” His chest felt tight all of a sudden. “Right. Of course.”

Wynne and Leliana exchanged glances. “You know, it’s a terrible party anyways,” Leliana said quickly. “No music at all – and the food is awful.”

“I agree,” Wynne said firmly. “I think we should just go home.”

“No!” he said sharply. There was nowhere he wanted to be less. “I’m hungry –who wants something? Wynne? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine,” she said gently. “Are you sure you want to go alone?”

He nodded, blinking heavily. “I’ll be back soon.”

He made his way to the nearest drink table. Dwarves were murmuring gently to each other in their own language, but Eruestan paid no attention to them. He had been royally stupid. What had he expected? That Zevran was devoted to him? The assassin had never made him any promises, never pretended that there was anything special between them. He had treated him the same as everyone else, and Eruestan had been the idiot to fall for it. He should have seen it sooner – he had been the only person to play along with Zevran, that was the only reason he’d gotten any attention. It was stupid, completely stupid. Lost in thought, he grabbed a flagon of ale from the table and took a drink.

The liquor burned in his mouth like acid. Shocked, he spat it out without thinking, spraying the man in front of him with his spittle.

“ _Blyad’_!” Too late, Eruestan realized in horror that the man he had sprayed was Prince Bhelen’s companion, the one who had murdered the man in the plaza that afternoon. “ _Chyo za galima? Kto etot mudak?_ ”

Despite not speaking a word of Dwarven, it was very clear that Eruestan had made a major misstep. “I’m so sorry, let me—”

The dwarf snarled. “You messed with the wrong man, Topsider.” He drew his battleaxe without hesitating. The crowd around them gasped in horror and took a step back. Eruestan glared at him for a moment and summoned a ball of lightning. Now was not the time to mess with him.

Before either could act, however, someone stepped between them. “Hadar, lower your axe,” Prince Bhelen yawned. “You look like an idiot.”

Hadar immediately dropped his weapon and bowed. “Of course, my prince.”

“You’ll have to forgive my friend, Warden,” the prince said, turning to Eruestan, who ended his spell. Bhelen was a young man with bright blond hair, a large nose, and bored eyes. “He can be a little sensitive.”

“I can see that,” Eruestan said coldly. “Does he normally attack guests in the palace?”

“Only when encouraged.” The prince gestured to a back corner. “Come, have a drink with me; we have a lot to talk about.”

Eruestan hesitated. He knew he wasn’t in the best mental state, and he would have liked Rowena and the others to be there with him. But everyone else seemed absorbed in whom they were talking to, and he knew that they needed to speak with Bhelen. With a slight nod, he followed the prince, trying to push all thoughts of Zevran from his mind.

The prince led him to the back of the hall and nodded to two servants, who pulled back a curtain that revealed a small room lined with couches. Hadar threw his axe onto a table and flung himself onto a couch. “ _Vyeshchi_!” he yelled. “ _Khachu piva_!”

“Manners, Hadar, manners.” Bhelen glanced back at the servants. “Though some ale would be nice, thank you. Warden, will you take anything?”

Eruestan shook his head. “I don’t think I have the tolerance for dwarven ale.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” the prince said. “Spend enough time in Orzammar, and you’ll be drinking like Hadar here.”

“I’d like to see the nugfucker try,” Hadar said, grabbing the tankard offered him and downing it in one gulp.

“Our plan is to be out of Orzammar before anyone has time for that,” Eruestan said. “The Blight is coming, Your Highness, and we need Orzammar’s full support if we’re to confront it.”

“Ah, yes, your treaties – and thank you, Karina,” he said, taking a tankard of ale. “Is that how much Harrowmont’s promised you? All our men?”

“No, he promised us…” Eruestan suddenly realized it might not be smart to give the true amount. “90%. He promised 90% of Orzammar’s forces.”

“Then let me make this easy for you.” Bhelen set his tankard on the table before taking a drink. Hadar leaned forward and grabbed it. “Hadar, you’re a bronto. Warden, I promise you all of Orzammar’s armies if you help me secure the throne.”

“All?” Eruestan asked. “You’d give us all your armies?”

“So surface ears are as good as they say they are.” The prince raised an eyebrow. “Well? What do you say?”

Eruestan paused for a moment. “Can I get this in writing?”

Before Bhelen could respond, Hadar began coughing violently, so loud that they couldn’t continue their conversation. “Hadar!” the prince snapped. “Calm yourself!”

“ _Ya nye…nye magu…_ ” Hadar started clutching his throat, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Eruestan realized that he wasn’t coughing – he was choking. “ _Knyazh…moy knyazh…_ ”

“Somebody help him!” Eruestan cried, jumping to his feet. The servants pulled the curtains back and stared, jaws dropped at the man writing on the floor. “He’s dying!”

The servants glanced at each other and ran into the room. “ _Zashchishchayte knyazha!_ ” they yelled, grabbing Prince Bhelen. Frantically looking around the room, they escorted him out of the room and into the safer parts of the palace. Hadar was left writhing on the ground, his face turning blue.

Eruestan knelt by his body, watching in horror as the man’s life ended in front of him. Nobles were peering through the curtains now, clutching their drinks glasses in horror. As they saw what was happening, they began to scream to each other in Dwarven. “I don’t know how to help him!” Eruestan cried. “Somebody help!”

But no one did. As the nobles gathered, shrieking and whispering witticisms to each other, Hadar choked to death on the palace floor, eyes locked with Eruestan as he rejoined the Stone.


	33. Proving One's Worth

_The Taint was oozing through Orzammar, flooding the streets and turning the air black. A deep roar echoed through the city and shook the cavern walls as something emerged from the pool of lava below, spraying molten rock on the streets and palaces below. Rowena tried to move, to run away from the roars, but she could not – her legs had turned to stone. Screaming its evil into her head, the Taint rose up like a wave to crash down on her. She closed her eyes, just as something howled free in the depths of the city…_

“And then he just…died,” Eruestan was saying as if from a distance. Rowena started and tried to focus on him. “The prince’s servants ran Bhelen back into the palace and left him to choke to death in front of me.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. The dining room of their mansion was finely decorated and comfortable, but she couldn’t help wishing that the crystal chandelier above them wasn’t so bright. Beside her, Cormac whined and lay his head on her lap, sniffing at the strips of bacon lying on her plate. She gave him a piece and scratched his ears, still trying to clear her head. Her dreams had been particularly terrible the night before. Judging by the way Eruestan and Alistair looked, it was the same for them, too. At that moment, however, Alistair caught her eye and winked. Suddenly a little more alert, she smiled and winked back. They _needed_ to find some time alone together, preferably not after a political assassination.

But there was time to think about that later. “What did Bhelen tell you again?” she asked, taking a sip of chilled orange juice from a stone goblet.

“That if we help him to the throne, he’ll pledge all of Orzammar’s forces to our cause,” Eruestan said, spreading jam on a scone.  “He seemed pretty earnest – I didn’t get anything in writing, though.”

“Which should give us pause,” Wynne said. The enchanter looked a little tired, too. Rowena wondered if her magic helped her hear the dreams that plagued the others. “We know Prince Bhelen’s promised both House Dace and House Helmi the Gardor estate – he obviously can’t be trusted.”

“But if we press him on it, we might get a similar agreement to the one Harrowmont gave us,” Rowena replied. “It’d be 20% more manpower.”

“I wouldn’t rely on it,” Leliana said, piling fruit onto a plate. “He won’t want to make promises he has to keep. If we need to force him to make a deal with us, we should find something to blackmail him with.”

“Well, he can’t be happy that we know about Lady Dace and Lord Helmi,” Alistair yawned. “Wouldn’t that be enough?”

Leliana shrugged. “He doesn’t seem like an idiot,” she said, biting into a plum. “If he made the deals, he’s probably done something clever to wiggle his way around them. We should keep our ears open for more information.”

There was a noise out in the hallway. They all looked up to see four dwarves leave the house, disheveled and giggling to themselves. They walked past the dining room while staring at the Wardens, whispering furiously to each other in Dwarven.

Morrigan sighed. “Well, ‘twould appear that someone’s kept his legs open, at least.”

Rowena furrowed her eyebrows, wondering for a moment if the dwarves had started ogling them like animals in a menagerie. Then, Zevran strolled into the room, grinning broadly and humming to himself. “Good morning, my friends!” he said, snatching a pear off the pile of fruit in the middle of the table. “I hope you slept well – I myself did not sleep a wink.”

She winced and glanced at Eruestan, dreading his reaction. He caught her looking at him and flushed slightly. “Hello, Zevran,” he said, almost breathlessly. “You should sit down. I think your breakfast is going to be cold.”

He shrugged and threw himself down in a chair. “But who could worry about cold food on a morning like this? The people here are incredible, they have this trick with a feather that will just—”

“That’s enough, Zevran.” Eruestan’s voice was sharp, even though his face had gone white. Rowena flushed and looked down at her plate. This wasn’t going to end well. “We need to have a word with you.”

Zevran gave him a long stare. “You are annoyed with me?”

At this point everyone else had fallen silent, too. “As a matter of fact, yes,” Eruestan replied, his voice growing steadier the more he spoke. “You had no permission to leave when you did last night.”

“But we don’t need to talk about that now,” Rowena said hastily. “Zevran, here, have some bread—”

He shook his head. “It’s fine, Rowena. If Eruestan has something to say, I would rather hear it.” He turned back to the mage, his face growing still. “I did not realize I needed your permission to come or go.”

 “You did,” Eruestan snapped. “You always do. Last night was a dangerous event and we needed everyone there. Someone was assassinated, for Maker’s sake! That’s what you’re supposed to specialize in!”

Zevran’s eyes had gone cold. “I specialize in many—”

“That’s enough!” Eruestan said. “We asked you to join us because you’re supposed to help us – if you’re just going to be a flippant wisecracker, you might as well leave!”

Zevran’s face was unreadable. “I understand.”

“Good.” The two elves glared at each other for a moment, bathing the rest of the table in terribly awkward silence. Then someone coughed from the other end of the room.

“Good morning, Your Excellencies,” Rolfdir said, bowing to them from the room’s entrance. “I trust you slept well?”

“We did, thank you,” Rowena said, still flushing. “Our quarters are wonderful.”

“I’m pleased you like them.” Rolfdir pulled out a piece of parchment from his tunic and handed it to her. “I come bearing invitations. Your presence has been requested at the Assembly today.”

Eruestan turned away from Zevran, color slowly returning to his face. “Who’s invited us?”

Rowena glanced at the paper and shook her head. “It’s written in Dwarven,” she said. “I can’t read it.”

“You will be the guests of all the deshyrs of the Assembly,” Rolfdir explained. “Lord Harrowmont and Prince Bhelen included. You can observe the session from the guest’s gallery.”

“What an honor,” Rowena said, already filled with dread. “Will we be able to address the Assembly?”

Rolfdir frowned. “Certainly not. Only deshyrs are allowed that privilege. In any case, the proceedings will be in Dwarven, as is tradition in the Assembly. I will translate for you, of course.” He paused. “It may behoove you to dress practically. Meetings of the Assembly can be…dangerous…”

“You don’t say,” Wynne said drily. “Thank you for the message, though, Rolfdir. When should we arrive by?”

The dwarf pointed to a clock above the fireplace. “You should go in about an hour,” he said. “The Assembly already convened earlier this morning, but most guests don’t arrive until the afternoon. You’ll have more than enough time to make a good impression, I assure you.”

“All right,” Rowena said. “And would we be able to leave early? I just don’t want to be…er…uh, never mind,” she said, noticing the look of abject horror on his face. “We’ll…we’ll stay…”

“Good,” Rolfdir said, his eyes still wide. “It took us four days to clean up the blood the last time someone tried to leave an Assembly session early.” Wiping his brow with a handkerchief, he bowed before them and turned to leave. “ _Da vstrechi_ , Wardens. I will be back in an hour to collect you.”

“Thank you, Rolfdir.” Rowena waited until he left the room to sink down in her chair. “This is going to be _so_ boring!” she cried. “All they’re going to want to do is talk about sewage treatment and livery changes!”

“Their king is dead, Rowena,” Eruestan said, raising an eyebrow. “They have a few more pressing matters at hand.”

She scowled. “These sort of things always end up about sewage, trust me.”

“Stop saying ‘sewage’,” Leliana said, nose wrinkled. “And in any case, this is a great honor! Exactly how Grey Wardens should be treated!”

“This more to your liking, Leliana?” Alistair asked.

“More than fighting for my life against enraged cultists and undead corpses? Yes.” She dropped her fork. “Oh, Maker! What am I going to wear?”

“Good point, Leli,” Rowena said, standing up as the bard fled from the room in a panic. “We should all start getting ready now,” she said. “And remember, find something with armor, for Maker’s sake—er, Zevran?” The assassin was sitting stonily in his chair as the others rose up around him, his arms crossed. “Do you…do you want to get changed?”

“Yes,” he replied. “But I wouldn’t want to leave without Eruestan’s permission, of course.”

The room fell silent again as everyone suddenly seemed very interested in the tiling on the floor. Finally, Eruestan cleared his throat. “You have my permission, Zevran,” he said coldly. “Unless you’d rather it be an order?”

The elf stood up and bowed theatrically. “Your wish is my command, Master.”

Rowena smiled weakly as Zevran walked past her, his jaw clenched. Sighing to herself, she glanced back at Eruestan as he walked up to her. “Are you sure you—”

“Leave it, Rowena,” Eruestan muttered. “We’ll talk later.”

She hesitated, and then nodded. There would be plenty of time to talk at the Assembly.

An hour later they were standing in the mansion’s lobby, all looking anxiously at the second floor. “Leliana! Zevran!” Rowena called. “We’re going to be late!”

“Coming!” Leliana called back.

Rowena wasn’t convinced. “If we’re late, you know they’re going to kill us! Or at least try to!”

Alistair scoffed. “You think a bunch of dwarves could take us after everything else we’ve been up against?”

“Well, there’s respect for you,” Rolfdir said, walking up behind them.

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged looks and sighed. “He didn’t really mean that,” Eruestan said. “I’m sure you could all kill us if you wanted to.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Rolfdir said coolly. “Are you not ready to go?”

“We will be!” Rowena said. “We’re all just a little…”

“Vain,” Sten said.

“…delayed,” she corrected. “We’re delayed, that’s all.”

Rolfdir didn’t seem impressed. “Well, have them hurry up! I’ve already informed the Assembly that you’ll be there now! ”

“We will, of course,” she said, smiling warmly. Her face fell as she turned back upstairs. “ _Move it_!”

“ _Coming_!” they both yelled back.

Rolfdir sighed and turned back to the others. “In any case, this is the ideal time for a few preliminary instructions. You will be entering the chamber in the middle of the Assembly’s proceedings – under no circumstances will you interrupt what is happening.”

“So no starting a kick line, then, huh?” Rowena asked, grinning. Rolfdir stared at her. “That was a joke, Rolfdir.”

 “We’re here, we’re here, there’s no need to keep yelling,” Leliana said as she and Zevran walked down the stairs. “He was finishing the last of my braids.”

“Everything’s all right now,” Eruestan said, voice stiff as he and Zevran refused to look at each other. “Rolfdir, is it a long walk to the Assembly Hall?”

The dwarf shook his head. “Not at all. Follow me, please.” To their surprise, instead of walking back out into the street, he began heading deeper into the house.

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged glances. “Er, Rolfdir?” she asked hesitantly. “Are you sure you’re going the right way?”

“Follow me, please!” She sighed and ran ahead to catch up with him, the others following behind her. Rolfdir was taking them to a part of the house they hadn’t explored yet, containing a library and an impressive ballroom. Instead of lingering there, however, he led them down a long corridor that ended in a squat stone door. Pushing it open, he revealed a well-paved tunnel stretching off into the distance. “Every home in the Diamond Quarter has a tunnel connecting it to the Assembly Hall,” he explained. “This will lead you to your guest box. This way, please.”

He led them down the tunnel and around a series of turns before arriving in front an ornately-carved doorway. Stepping through, Rowena stopped for a moment and stared at the room, impressed with the view. Their box was at the top of a large circular chamber that had to be a few hundred feet tall. Each level was lined with boxes for the different noble houses, all bearing family crests and flashing with gold and jewels. Someone down below was giving an impassioned speech in Dwarven, her voice echoing off the chamber walls like thunder in a cave. The rest of the Assembly was booing or cheering in response, creating so much noise that the floor was trembling. The boxes were dark, though, and it was impossible to see any of the speakers. It all gave her the strange impression of hearing disembodied voices.

 “You’re in for a treat today!” Rolfdir said, sitting down on a bench lined with velvet cushions. “Every house in the Diamond Quarter is here – save House Gardor and House Bralor, of course.”

“House Bralor?” Eruestan asked, sitting down next to him. “Did they get banished as well?”

Rolfdir shook his head. “The Bralors are the most recent additions to the nobility. Their founder, Branka, is the only living Paragon. She earned her Elevation through her invention of smokeless coal.”

“Why aren’t they here now?” Wynne asked.

The dwarf sighed. “It’s foolish – Branka has decided to lead her house on a suicide mission through the Deep Roads in pursuit of myth and legend.”

Sten grunted. “Sounds familiar.”

“They all left?” Eruestan asked.

He nodded. “All save her husband, Oghren. The poor man woke up one morning and found a note saying they’d all disappeared. By all accounts he hasn’t taken the blow well – though if you ask me he’s lucky not to have been dragged down there.”

Rowena felt Alistair shudder at her side. “What did they want to go into the Deep Roads for?” he asked in disgust.

“Branka thought she could find the Anvil of the Void,” Rolfdir said. “It’s an old dwarven legend, thought to be able of crafting extraordinary things. That’s all it is though, legend. Hardly worth killing yourself in the Deep Roads for.”

“Maybe that’s where we should be, though,” Rowena said, looking back at the others. “It’s where the darkspawn come from, right? If we led an expedition down there…”

“Don’t say that.” Alistair’s voice was harsher than she had ever heard it before. She turned around and looked at him in surprise. “Sorry,” he muttered. “They’re just…not nice, that’s all.”

Before she could question him further, Leliana frowned and asked, “Do they always talk over each other? This would be exceptionally rude in Orlais.”

There was a burst of shouting down below as someone else began speaking. “Today is a little rowdy, that’s true,” Rolfdir said, shrugging. “But choosing the next king is never easy. It’s a topic that will occupy us for a while.”

“But that’s not what they’re talking about, is it?” Wynne asked, eyebrows furrowed as she listened. “Her speech is about…socks?”

Rolfdir gave her a half-smile. “Your Dwarven is much better than you let on. Yes, Lady Dace is complaining that House Lassig’s livery is too similar to her own.”

Rowena smirked knowingly at Eruestan as he looked back at Rolfdir in shock . “She’s talking about that _now_?” the mage cried. “What does that have to do with choosing a new king?”

“It doesn’t, not directly,” Rolfdir said. “However, before they can vote on a new monarch, the Assembly must settle any standing disputes from the previous reign.”

“All disputes?” Rowena asked in alarm.

He nodded. “Normally it falls to the monarch’s heir. Now that the heir’s contested, however, it’s up to the Assembly to judge them all.”

Rowena and Eruestan glanced at each other. “Well, how many are there?” Eruestan asked.

“That’s a good question,” Rolfdir said. “Let me consult the program.” He pulled a thick packet of parchment out from a tray carved into the balustrade in front of them. “Hm…let’s see…ah, there we are. There are 458 issues to be treated.”

“ _458_?” Eruestan looked horrified. “What number are they on now?”

Rolfdir checked the program again. “Number one.”

“ _One_?”

“Hey, let’s stay calm,” Rowena said, holding out a hand to keep Eruestan from leaping to his feet. “I’m sure they’re going to speed through these issues – they have a lot bigger things to talk about, after all.”

Five hours later they were all slumped over the couches in their living room. “Two topics,” Rowena said dully, staring listlessly at the ceiling. “They debated for five hours and covered two topics.”

“Livery and sewage,” Eruestan said, pinching his nose. “All they talked about was livery and sewage. You were right, Rowena, I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“I knew they threw everything in the lava, though,” Alistair said smugly. “There’s no way this place wouldn’t reek otherwise.”

Rowena smiled at him and looked back at Rolfdir. “How long will it take to start talking about the new king, do you think?”

The dwarf shrugged. “I think the longest it’s taken is four years.”

“ _Four years_?” The whole room stared at him in shock.

“As a maximum!” he said. “On average it’s much closer to two!”

“We don’t have two years!” Eruestan said, sitting up straight. “There’s a bloody Blight going on!”

“How on earth do you manage to survive four years without a king?” Rowena asked in wonder. “Ferelden’s already falling to pieces and it’s only been a few months!”

Rolfdir waved her off. “Oh, we’re used to a little bit of anarchy down here…though, granted, we’ve never had this happen during a Blight…”

Eruestan had started pacing in the middle of the room. “We might have to leave,” he said, hands in his hair. “Cut our losses, try to find the elves…we can try to do this without Orzammar…”

“You can’t do that,” Rolfdir said, frowning.

Eruestan shot him a look. “I don’t _want_ to do it without you, but we can’t wait that long!”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Rolfdir said. “You aren’t allowed to leave the city.”

There was a beat. “And there it is,” Zevran said, leaning back on the couch.

“You’re not allowed to leave until this crisis is dealt with,” the dwarf said. “Petitioners allowed special access to the throne aren’t allowed to leave until the throne addresses them. It’s in the protocol.”

“Rolfdir, we can’t stay here for four years!” Eruestan said, eyes wide. “We have a Blight to stop!”

“Average of two!” Rolfdir said. “And you should have thought of that before you entered Orzammar!”

“And you should have told us about all your ridiculous laws!”

“Eruestan!” Rowena said, staring at him. There was a note of panic in the elf’s voice that she didn’t like. “There has to be something we can do,” she said to Rolfdir. “Isn’t there a way for us to expedite things?”

The idea seemed to horrify him. “Selecting a new king is a sacred process! There’s nothing any of you can do to interfere!”

“Or is there?” Leliana asked thoughtfully. Everyone looked over at her armchair to find her absentmindedly playing with the hems of her sleeves.  “I mean, think about it,” she said, looking around the room. “Our problems stem from the fact that the king named two heirs to the throne, right? So, if either of their claims are eliminated, the Assembly will have nothing to vote on, right? And then we’d have a king to negotiate with.”

Zevran lifted himself up from his couch. “It sounds like we need a dashingly good-looking assassin to take care of things for us.”

“When you find one, let us know,” Leliana said drily. “And besides, Zevran, political death is far more effective than physical death. After all, if both of them end up dead, then the whole matter will be stuck in the Assembly’s hands forever.”

“But how do we politically eliminate anyone?” Rowena asked. “We hardly know how anything works here!”

“But I know how politics work in general,” Leliana persisted. “And I imagine our status as Grey Wardens won’t hurt us in the city?”

Rolfdir did not look pleased, but he nodded back to her all the same. “It is true that your position holds some clout in the city,” he replied. “Even we dwarves recognize the importance of the Wardens during a Blight. If you do plan to act, though, I suggest you do so quickly and intelligently. There’s nothing we hate more here than people who don’t know how to do politics.” Somewhere in the house a bell rang. “Someone has left a message. Forgive me, I’ll retrieve it for you.”

There was a brief silence as he left for the foyer. “We’re never leaving this place, are we?” Alistair asked hopelessly.

“Not with that attitude, we won’t,” Rowena said. She looked over at Eruestan, who was still pacing around the living room. “What should we do?”

“We’ll have to choose,” he said, throwing up his hands. “Choose fast, and then play as dirty as we need to.”

“I can help with that,” Leliana said. “First, though, we need to decide which side to take.”

“Good news, Your Excellencies,” Rolfdir said, reentering the room. “Both Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont have invited you to attend tonight’s Provings Ceremony – a wonderful display of one of our city’s oldest traditions.”

Wynne made a face. “There’s going to be a Proving? Already?”

Rolfdir nodded. “It’s customary in Orzammar to commemorate a fallen monarch with a night of Provings. The lists were drawn up last night.”

“What are Provings?” Eruestan asked. “Is it academic?”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Rowena muttered. He grinned back at her.

“Unfortunately, it’s nothing like that,” Wynne said. “It’s rather barbaric, to be honest – murder for entertainment.”

“It’s an ancient part of life in Orzammar!” Rolfdir said. “The Provings are a manifestation of the Ancestors’ will, a way for them to communicate with the rest of us. They were originally meant to settle our disputes and grant honor where it is due. Anyone with a grievance can drag his enemy to the arena, and whoever walks out alive is declared the legal winner. Today’s ceremony will be Memorial Provings, however, making them far more like your tournaments up on the surface.”

Rowena instantly perked up. “Really? Can anyone enter?”

 Eruestan narrowed his eyes. “Rowena…”

“Anyone from any caste may enter, yes.” Her eyes lit up, already envisioning a moment of glory down on the arena grounds. Before she could say anything, however, Rolfdir continued to say, “However, everyone will need noble patrons, and seeing as the lists were drawn up last night all the houses participating have already been accounted for.” She scowled and slumped back in her seat. “What shall I tell His Lordship, and what shall I tell His Highness?”

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged a glance. “Tell them we’re greatly honored,” Eruestan said slowly, “and that we’ll meet them at the arena.”

“Excellent,” Rolfdir said, bowing. “I’ll let them know directly. Do you know how to get to the Proving Grounds?” Wynne nodded. “Wonderful. Head there now – I’ll meet with you afterwards.”

“I imagine we’ll have to wear something sturdy?” Alistair asked. “I mean, if you can’t go through a dinner party without stabbing each other, a sports arena must be a total bloodbath.”

Rolfdir looked scandalized. “Armor? At a Provings? Never! The Ancestors watch over the proceedings, to bring weapons into the arena would be an insult to their memory!” He left the room, shaking his head in disgust. “Honestly, surfacers…”

Alistair watched him leave, his jaw open. “I will _never_ understand this city.”

“It does boggle belief, I agree,” Morrigan said, eyebrows raised. “The dwarves spend all their lives fighting darkspawn, they live in the last city of their former empire, they constantly have to watch out for each other’s knives at their backs, _and_ they settle legal disputes through hand-to-hand combat? ‘Tis a wonder they manage to survive at all.”

Eruestan sighed. “Just so long as they don’t kill themselves before they pick a new king, we’ll be fine. Speaking of which, whose invitation are we going to accept? We can’t go to both.”

“Which one would be most likely to sponsor me in the lists?” Rowena asked, staring into space. “Bhelen, right? He’s young, impulsive, right?”

“Rowena, none of us are fighting today—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever,” she said, waving him off. “I’m going to Bhelen’s box.”

Eruestan pinched his nose. “I swear by the Maker, if you get us involved in a death match over a pit of lava…”

She shivered in anticipation. “Don’t tempt me. But I’m serious! I need to meet him anyways – I want to see if I can help negotiate a signed deal with him.”

“I should go with you, then,” Leliana said. “Wynne as well. She’s the only one who knows anything about the dwarves.”

“Is it wise to invest entirely in the prince?” Morrigan asked. “Surely Lord Harrowmont will not take kindly to us ignoring his invitation.”

“Morrigan’s right,” Leliana said. “We should send someone to Harrowmont as well.”

“I’ll go,” Eruestan said. “Bhelen probably won’t want to see me after last night.”

“And Alistair should go with you,” Leliana said carefully, mapping everything out in her head. “If we send more people to Bhelen, but more Wardens to Harrowmont, the prestige will be balanced out.” She paused. “Or at least I hope it will be.”

“In that case, I will go with you and Rowena,” Zevran announced clearly. Rowena winced and tried not to look at Eruestan.

“And I wish to go with Eruestan and Alistair,” Morrigan said.

The two men stopped and stared at her. “Come again?”

“Do not look so surprised!” she snapped. “I…wish to spend more time with you, is all!”

They looked at each other. “Has she been possessed?” Alistair asked, leaning forward to peer into her eyes.

She leaned back and waved him away. “Come any closer to me and possession shall be the least of your worries.”

“Nope, definitely still her,” Eruestan said in wonder. “But, I mean, that’s great, Morrigan. You’re more than welcome to come with.”

“And that means Sten is with us,” Leliana said. “More importantly, though, what are we going to say to each of them? Should we tell Harrowmont about the Dace and Helmi deals?”

Eruestan and Rowena glanced at each other. “Yes,” Eruestan said slowly. “But we should tell Bhelen that we told Harrowmont. We should make it clear that we’re neutral until we make up our minds.”

“Clever,” Leliana said appreciatively. “You should let Harrowmont know that you’re considering a deal with Bhelen, too – it might make him think twice about the 80%.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” Eruestan said. “We should go, though – I have a feeling we won’t want to be late.”

The city was quiet as they left the house. For a moment Rowena was confused; then, she realized that it must have been the evening, even though it was hard to tell underneath the earth. The view of the city from their mansion really was stunning, and once again she was blown away by its grandeur. “How long do you think it took them to build this place?” she asked.

“The dwarves will tell you it was all built by one man,” Wynne said. “Caridin, the man Rolfdir was talking about at the Assembly. According to legend, he was a great hero builder who constructed the city and then turned himself into a golem to stop the encroaching darkspawn horde in the First Blight.”

“A golem?” Alistair asked. “What’s that?”

“A golem is an ancient war machine,” she replied. “In essence, it was an animated anthropomorphic geologic structure capable of speech and voluntary decision.”

The group stared at her.

“It was a moving war statue,” she sighed.

“Oh!” Alistair said. “Sounds cool!”

“Sounds useful,” Rowena and Eruestan said at the same time.

“It was both cool and useful, yes,” Wynne said. “At the time, the golems were even able to push back the darkspawn and reconquer lost territories in the Deep Roads. But the golems disappeared centuries ago, Caridin with them, and like Rolfdir said every attempt to find them has ended in utter failure. Besides, Caridin’s story is so full of myths and legends that it’s hard to tell the fact from the fiction. While there are records of Paragon Caridin during the First Blight, Orzammar was constructed centuries beforehand. There’s no way it could be the same man.”

“Stonecrusher,” Alistair said suddenly. Everyone stared at him. “That’s what I’d want to be called if I was a war statue – Stonecrusher.”

“And, yet again, Alistair completely misses the point,” Morrigan said.

“I understood the point!” Alistair said as they approached the gates that led out of the Diamond Quarter. “What bigger point could there be beyond how cool it would be to be a war statue?”

“I suppose ‘twould be fitting,” Morrigan said. “You already have the mind of a rock, you might as well have the body to go with it.”

“Anyways,” Rowena said, ignoring the two of them as they began squabbling again, “Orzammar is really impressive.”

“Where is everyone, though?” Leliana asked. “I’ve never seen a city so empty before.”

“I imagine they’re all at the arena,” Wynne said. “All the castes are welcome at the Provings.”

“That’s wonderful!” Leliana said. “You know, this caste system is really fantastic. In Orlais, beggars line the streets – here everyone has a place. The Qun must be something like that, right, Sten?”

The Qunari wasn’t listening to her. “Are we in the Smith Quarter?” he said abruptly, looking around at the shops lining the street.

“We just passed it,” Wynne said. “But we’ve almost reached the arena…”

He turned to Rowena. “I wish to visit Master Janar. Immediately.”

Rowena and Eruestan glanced at each other. “Would you mind waiting just a little longer, Sten?” she asked slowly. “I don’t think we want to be late for the Provings.”

He stared at her. “My sword could be in his shop.”

“We know, Sten,” Eruestan said. “We can find it tomorrow, though – we really can’t be late.”

Sten kept staring at them, and for a moment Rowena was afraid he was going to push further. However, he finally began slowly nodding his head. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We will go tomorrow.”

“Definitely, first thing in the—ok, goodbye, then,” Rowena said as Sten pulled ahead. “You know, I’m seriously afraid of the day that he tries to kill me.”

“Better him than some hurlock,” Eruestan said. They were passing by the city tavern, which by the looks of it was empty for the Provings night. The same red-haired dwarf they had seen before was sitting out in front of it in a pool of some bodily fluid, his eyes half open. “Hey, Firecrotch,” he slurred. “Lookin’ for a good time? Ditch String Bean and I’ll show you how to really go under the surface.”

Rowena smiled sweetly back at him. “I’d rather die, thanks.” Rolling her eyes, she grabbed Eruestan’s arm and started pulling him across the bridge to the Proving Grounds. “Honestly, do you think he’s even moved from when we last saw him?”

“Something might have moved.” She gagged as he winked at her. “Speaking of which, make any headway with Alistair last night?”

She snorted. “You mean after all the killing was over? Yeah, surprisingly that didn’t really set the right mood.” She sighed. “Besides, my nightmares last night were terrible.”

“Mine were terrible, too,” he said quietly. “I think it must have something to do with our proximity to the Deep Roads. I hardly slept at all last night.”

She shrugged. “Well, yeah, and with Zevran inviting half the Diamond Quarter over…” She suddenly remembered whom she was talking to. “Oh…oh, Eruestan, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s all right,” he said shortly. “Like I said, it was a bad night.”

She winced at the sound of his voice. “If it makes you feel better, at least you know you’re not alone in your love troubles!”

“Surprisingly, that doesn’t make me feel better.” He sighed. “And don’t call them ‘love troubles.’ I’ve been stupid, Rowena. Zevran doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“He does!” She had said it too loud; the small crowd gathered around the arena’s entrance turned to stare at her. “He does,” she hissed. “He obviously just doesn’t realize how you feel about him.”

“That’s not true,” he said, frowning. “Look, I know we spent a lot of time on the road pretending that he felt something for me, but now that he has a whole city to choose from, it’s clear that he was only interested because I was the only one responding. Like I said, I’ve been stupid, that’s all.”

“No, _now_ you’re being stupid,” Rowena said. “How can you let one night change your mind about the past month? Anyone who’s seen how he looks at you would know what he thinks about you, if you just told him how you felt—”

He shook his head. “No, there’s no way I’m doing that.”

“Eruestan!” She started to say something else. However, before she could, a gong blared from inside the arena. “What’s going on?”

“The Provings are starting,” Wynne said from the back, stepping out of the way from a crowd rushing towards the entrance. “We should hurry to get inside.”

The two Wardens glanced at each other. “Fine,” Rowena said, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Let’s split up, everyone – we’ll see each other at the end of the night.”

* * *

 Eruestan watched as Rowena’s group disappeared into the crowd, his heart pounding. Zevran had walked past him without a glance, instead preferring to wink at a group of dwarves placing bets with a shady man in a large hood. How had things turned out so poorly? What had he done? He wanted to walk over and talk to him, tell him that he was sorry…

“Eruestan?” Alistair asked. “Are you ok?”

He blinked and nodded as two dwarf children pushed him aside to enter the stadium. “Sorry! The crowd is a little overwhelming.”

“There are tons of people,” the knight admitted, looking around them as they passed through the doors to the arena. “Makes you wonder how they can stomach the idea.”

“Of watching people kill each other? I imagine ‘tis rather easy,” Morrigan said, brusquely stepping through a pair of indignant dwarves.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Surprise, surprise, Morrigan approves of the death matches.”

“I neither approve nor disapprove of them,” she said as they walked into a large lobby bookended by giant staircases. “However, I admire the honesty of the tradition.”

He snorted. “Honesty? What’s honest about making people kill each other?”

“People die and kill each other every day,” she said. “‘Tis a natural part of life. At least the dwarves embrace the carnality of the world, rather than run from it.”

“Well, there’s a difference between acknowledging violence and killing each other for sport!”

“Hide from it all you want, we are all killers – whether or not ‘tis on a stage is irrelevant.”

“You’re sick!”

“And you are a cretin!”

“Honestly, you two, get a room,” Eruestan said, eyes scanning the crowd. The lobby was cavernous, echoing with the voices of hundreds of dwarves. Large, elegant crystals lit the room while the empty faces of warriors and fighters stared down at them from murals adorning the walls. On the far end of the wall was a tournament bracket written in dwarven runes, filled with what Eruestan assumed could only be the names of people about to die. Vendors snaked through the crowds, yelling loudly in Dwarven as they peddled dried jerky, candied nuts, steins of ale, and little figurines in the shape of warriors. Roaring underneath it all was the dull rumbling of the crowds in the arena, a hint of the violence to come.

“Ah, Your Excellencies,” Rolfdir said, pushing his way towards them. Even he looked befuddled by the amount of people there, his face red as he forced his way through. “I’m told you’ll be enjoying the festivities from Lord Harrowmont’s box – you’ll find him on the first level on the stairs to the left. His box will bear his colors, white and gold.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Eruestan asked, surprised.

He shook his head. “I will be observing from the second level, with the rest of the Merchant Caste. Don’t worry, though, His Lordship will afford you all the hospitality Orzammar can offer.”

“Yeah, that’s reassuring,” Alistair muttered. Eruestan elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Ow! I mean, yes, I’m sure he will.”

Rolfdir sighed. “I’ll come collect you when the night is over. _Please_ try not to insult anyone.”

“We’ll do our best,” Eruestan said, still glaring at Alistair. “We’ll see you then, Rolfdir.”

“All right, so what’s the game plan?” Alistair whispered as they made their way up the stairs. “How are we going to tell Harrowmont our information on Bhelen?”

“With subtlety,” Eruestan said. “The last thing we need is for word to go through the Diamond Quarter that we’re spreading rumors about the prince.”

Morrigan snorted. “If subtlety’s what we’re after, ‘twould have been a better idea to leave Alistair at home.”

“Oh, would you just _shut up_!”

“Alistair!” Eruestan hissed. They were standing in front of an archway flanked by two guards wearing white and gold, both of whom were glaring at them.

“Oh,” the knight said. “Damn.”

“Ah, Wardens,” Lord Harrowmont said, walking through the arch to join them. “How good of you to come!” He paused. “But where are the others?”

They glanced at each other. “We received many invitations tonight, Your Lordship,” Eruestan said slowly. “As you can see, though, out of respect to you we’ve sent two Wardens to your box.”

Harrowmont sighed. “So Bhelen’s gotten to you, too. Well, no matter – come, come. The first round has already begun.”

They followed him into his box, finally getting a chance to see the Provings for themselves. The arena was a massive, circular space lined with stands and boxes, vaguely reminiscent of the Assembly Chamber. These boxes were well lit, however, and Eruestan could see the spectators inside booing and cheering as the fighters below struck each other down. The grounds themselves were a few hundred feet down, far enough to make the combatants seem like toy figures killing each other at random. Noise echoed off the walls, filling Eruestan’s ears. Standing there, he had a sudden, horrible sense of being detached from reality.

“The first round is a melee?” Alistair asked, taking his seat. “How many people are down there?”

“64,” Harrowmont said, sitting on a comfortable throne lined in gold. “They’ll fight until 32 fighters remain, and then the next round they’ll fight until 16 are left. After that, they’ll be quickly sorted into brackets and will fight individual rounds until a victor is declared. But first, allow me to introduce you to my companions.” He gestured to an ancient woman seated in the front row of benches. “This is Shaper Magda, current head of the Shaperate. And this is Boyar Helmi and his wife, Boyar Olga, of the Warrior Caste.” A gaunt, pale couple turned to them and nodded before returning to the tournament. “Finally, we have an old friend of mine, Lady Daria Varenko.” A pretty woman wearing impossibly large jewels smiled at them before whispering something to the maid seated next to her.

A gong sounded again, and the warriors immediately sheathed their weapons and walked off the field. “Are they done already?” Eruestan asked, watching as workers began dragging corpses out of the arena.

Harrowmont nodded. “They’ll clear off the fields, let the fighters grab something to drink, and then begin the second round. You’d be surprised how fast these nights go.” He looked at Lady Daria. “Is Bhelen’s warrior still standing?”

She nodded. “Gospodin Aleksandr did very well, actually, though I’m personally surprised he showed up sober.”

Harrowmont scowled. “Dagmar better not disappoint me tonight. If I lose one more step to Bhelen…”

The three Wardens glanced at each other. “We might be able to help with that, Your Lordship,” Eruestan said. “We learned a few things about some of the deals the prince has been making across the city, and we thought you might be interested to hear them.”

As he told Harrowmont about Bhelen’s activities, the dwarf’s face grew more and more pensive. “So Bhelen’s offering more than he can promise, is he?” he asked, stroking his beard. “I’m surprised Dace and Helmi let him drag them into deals without Shaperate approval.”

“Oh, he got them both ratified with the Shaperate,” Shaper Magda said. With her wrinkled skin and cloud of white hair, she was easily the oldest woman Eruestan had ever seen. Her voice sounded like two rocks grinding together. “What neither of them know is that Bhelen has also signed a deal with the Shaperate promising to only honor the deal struck with the house that ends up giving him the most support. He’s clever, even if he’s an evil little brat.”

“Evil?” Eruestan asked. “What makes you say that?”

The Shaper looked at him a little stiffly. “It wouldn’t be proper to say,” she said.

“Oh, don’t toy with them, Magda,” Lady Daria said, laughing. “They’ll find out sooner or later everything Bhelen’s done, whether you tell them or not.”

“Tell us what?” Alistair asked.

“Don’t say anything too sordid, Dasha,” Harrowmont said, amused. “I imagine some of what you know about His Highness would curl their toes.”

“Pyroshka!” She slapped his arm gently, giggling. “I assure you, Wardens, that I only have the purest of information to share.”

“If you are going to share it, then do so,” Morrigan snapped. “Otherwise I suggest you flirt in another box.”

Lady Daria’s eyes narrowed slightly; however, she smiled just as broadly and said, “Well, it’s hardly secret that he’s been gallivanting about with some no-name Duster. She’s even living in the palace, can you imagine? It’s only a matter of time before they have a child, and then where will we be?”

“I hear she’s already pregnant,” Boyar Olga said, still staring at the empty arena. Her voice was flat and uninterested, as if mumbling to herself.

“Well, that’s Dust Town for you,” Lady Daria said. “Trashy things. How could Bhelen do it? Sully the Royal Palace with Dust Blood?”

“I’m sorry, what’s Dust Town?” Eruestan asked. “And who are the Dusters?”

The nobles hesitated. “Dust Town is a neighborhood in the lower half of the city,” Harrowmont said. “The people who live there are of much lower social standing. Hardly suitable for a king.”

“Well, maybe a little social mixing wouldn’t be so bad,” Eruestan said evenly. “If the prince is looking to even out the caste system…”

The lady snorted. “Please! The only thing Bhelen is looking for is a mistress on the side. But in any case, I wish her well. If the child’s a boy, Bhelen will have to take her.”

“Only a boy?” Morrigan asked. “Are girls valued so little here?”

“That’s not what she means,” Shaper Magda rumbled, looking over at Harrowmont and Lady Daria in disdain. “In mixed-caste unions, children belong to the family of the same-gendered parent. If this girl has a daughter, Bhelen will have no obligations. If she has a son, however, both she and the child will become attached to House Aeducan.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Alistair asked.

“Only if you value tradition and basic decency!” Lady Daria shook her head, ratting the jewels at her throat. “That isn’t even the worst, though.”

Harrowmont frowned. “Careful, Dasha…”

“Oh, Pyral, it’s nothing, everyone else is saying it anyways.” She turned back to them. “This is all hearsay and rumor, of course, but they do say that it was Bhelen who killed Prince Trian, not their brother Duran.”

For a moment, Eruestan didn’t understand. “I’m sorry?”

“It was incredibly shocking, you know,” she whispered, as if someone else was listening. “See, Old King Endrin had three sons, and Bhelen was the youngest. Trian, the eldest, was a bit of a dunce, but Duran, the second son, was a prince in every sense of the word: handsome, kind, intelligent…which is why everyone was shocked a few months ago when Duran was found over Trian’s dead body during an expedition to the Deep Roads.”

“Maker,” Alistair breathed.

She nodded. “Oh, it was quite the scandal, I assure you – the poor king was horrified, of course. Duran was thrown into prison and removed from the succession, and Bhelen became heir apparent. Never mind the fact that the old king never liked his third son…”

“I visited with Duran while he was in his cell,” Harrowmont said gravely. “The whole time he professed his innocence to me. He claimed thugs killed his brother and vanished before he could stop them. At the time it sounded nonsensical, but looking back I never did know Prince Duran to tell a lie…”

“And who benefits more from the elimination of his two brothers than Prince Bhelen?” Lady Daria asked smugly. “It’s these sort of vicious, cut-throat politics that are going to destroy the city. Poor Prince Duran, though – to lose all one’s honor due to the treachery of a brother.”

“What happened to him?” Alistair asked, face pale.

“That’s the mystery of it,” Lady Daria replied. “The day of his execution, the guards went to his cell and found it empty. No sign of escape, either. It boggles the mind.” A gong sounded again, and the arena erupted into cheers. “Oh! The fighters are back! My word, Pyroshka, isn’t Boyar Elena looking a little heavy?”

As the two nobles laughed, Eruestan sat back in his seat, uneasy. If that story was true, picking sides was going to be a lot harder than he anticipated.

* * *

 Meanwhile, Rowena was having trouble focusing between the fighting and her conversation with the prince. “Your Highness, we know you can’t be happy about this development, but – _oh come on! You could have easily side-stepped that_!” she yelled as a fighter down below collapsed from an axe wound to the neck.

“What Her Ladyship is trying to say, Your Highness,” Leliana said, cutting in, “is that given the current political tensions in Orzammar, we feel it is in everyone’s best interests to cater to both sides until the conflict is resolved. That is why we told Harrowmont about the rumors, and why we’ve told you that we’ve told him.”

The prince waved her off. “Come to Orzammar, you must play by its rules. To be honest, this might even help me in the long run.” He turned to a man standing by his chair. “Vartag, send word to Lord Helmi and Lady Dace and let them know about the deal I made with the Shaperate. Once both of them discover that whoever helps me the most will receive the Gardor estate, they’ll be falling over themselves to get into my good graces.” The man bowed and left the box, just in time for Rowena to look down and see two dwarves be impaled by one woman’s pike.

“This is fantastic,” she murmured to Wynne and Zevran. “Our tournaments are so boring compared to this!”

“I think I rather prefer boredom,” Wynne said with a grimace. “Though I will admit, it is a fascinating phenomenon to watch…”

“I’m having terrible luck, though,” Zevran said, slamming his fist on the railing of the box. “All the attractive fighters keep getting killed.”

Rowena looked over at him, trying to get a better read on him. “Do you really have that much of a preference for dwarves, Zevran?”

“I have no room for preferences in my life,” he said lazily, watching the field. “I am just as attracted to a handsome dwarf as I would be to a beautiful human like yourself. Getting attached is no way to live.”

“And what about love, Zev?” Leliana asked.

He smiled, but Rowena could see something strange in his eyes, an expression she couldn’t identify. “I have no room for love, either, Leliana.” There was a cheer from the stands. “ _Merda_! There goes another one!”

“I would recommend not getting too attached to the combatants, Wardens,” Bhelen called over. “The only way out of that arena is to kill or be killed.”

“Is that really the only option?” Wynne asked. “I know I saw a match once where both participants walked off the field.”

“Both can come together to dedicate their match to a single sponsor and claim a victory together,” Bhelen admitted. “That might happen tonight. Still, with the city as tense as it is, I doubt it.”

Wynne sighed. “Succession crises,” she murmured to Rowena. “They always bring out the worst in people.”

“Was there this much turmoil when King Maric died?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the fighting. “I was only 12 when it happened, I wasn’t paying any attention at all.”

“To be fair, I was locked in a tower at the time,” Wynne said, smiling. “Still, I do remember there being a bit of controversy. Some people thought King Cailan too inexperienced to take the throne.” She shot her a look. “Actually, if I remember correctly, quite a few people were willing to give it to your father.”

Rowena looked over at her in surprise. “My father?”

She nodded. “Teyrn Cousland refused, though, which may have been the wiser decision in the end. Cailan was the blood of Calenhad, after all, which still means quite a bit to most people in Ferelden.”

“Meaning our friend Alistair should really be thinking about his future,” Zevran said, winking at a lady sitting next to him.

“He _really_ should be,” Leliana said. “Have you spoken with him about it, Rowena?”

Everyone stared at her, and suddenly she began to feel embarrassed. “I haven’t,” she admitted. “But I mean, we all know he doesn’t want the throne.”

“It’s not a matter of what he wants, unfortunately,” Wynne said. “It’s a matter of what’s best for the country.”

There was a knot in her stomach that she couldn’t explain. “I’ll…I’ll think about it.”

A gong sounded, and the fighters left the arena once more. “Finally, the individual matches are about to start,” Bhelen said. “Who’s fighting for Harrowmont, by the way?”

Someone snickered. “Dashing Dagmar,” the lady sitting next to Zevran said, grinning wickedly.

The prince laughed. “By the Stone, Lanca, are you sure? Is that the best Harrowmont can do? Does he have rocks for brains?”

“Who’s ‘Dashing Dagmar’?” Rowena asked the lady.

“Officially it’s ‘Boyar Dagmar’, and you probably saw her on the field,” she said, smiling. She was very pretty, with thick golden hair and brilliantly white teeth. “Gold and white armor, giant battle axe? She’s a very decorated warrior, probably one of the best in the city – but she’s got terrible stage fright. Much more suited on the field than in the arena. She’s notorious for surrendering right before the individual rounds.”

“In that case, why would Lord Harrowmont choose her?” Leliana asked.

She shrugged. “Like I said, she’s an excellent soldier. She also comes from one of the strongest families in the Warrior Caste. I expect Harrowmont’s catering both to her pride and her family’s.”

“And who’s fighting for Bhelen, then?” Rowena asked. “Someone equally as prestigious?”

Her eyes twinkled. “It’s a little scandalous, which is why Bhelen did it. Instead of choosing a deshyr or a boyar, as almost all the nobles do, Bhelen selected Gospodin Aleksandr from the Merchant Class. He’s a well-known brawler, and a good fighter, but as a champion he’s raising a few eyebrows.” The lady’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s been raising a few bottles of ale in-between rounds, too, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

There was a loud giggle from Bhelen’s throne. Rowena looked over to see a young, red-haired girl who was obviously pregnant laughing at the prince’s side. “Is that his wife?” she asked, noticing the large tattoo on her face.

The lady snorted. “She wishes! That’s Rica, the prince’s paramour.” She looked up to the assassin and winked. “She’s casteless, of course, but if she has a son she very well may be Queen Mother one day. Lanca Tural, by the way.”

“Casteless?” Leliana asked. “You mean a surfacer?”

“I mean a Duster,” Lanca said. “The casteless exist outside of the caste system. They’re mainly criminals and thugs. Word on the street is Bhelen’s looking to improve their living conditions, though.”

“I’ve never heard of the casteless before,” Wynne said, frowning. “Where do they live?”

“They live in a place called Dust Town, at the bottom of the city – and the reason you’ve never heard of them is because no one ever discusses them. It used to be impolite to even mention Dusters in passing.” Lanca flushed as Zevran smoldered at her. “Change is coming with Bhelen, though, trust me.”

“And not with Harrowmont?” Wynne asked.

“Please, that old windbag?” Lanca rolled her eyes, breaking away from Zevran’s gaze. “You know, they say he’s the one who let Duran escape?”

 “Duran?” Rowena asked. “Who’s Duran?”

“Sh!” Lanca suddenly looked nervous, glancing over to make sure the prince hadn’t heard them. “He was King Endrin’s second son,” she said, leaning over to whisper to her. “He killed his elder brother and was too stupid to not get caught doing it. Word is Harrowmont set him free out of respect for House Aeducan. If you ask me, it’s ridiculous that a murderer should be liberated because of his royal blood.”

“I’m surprised you support him, though,” Leliana said. “Nobles rarely wish to see their rights stripped from them.”

The dwarf looked up at her in surprise and laughed brightly. “For Stone’s sake, I’m not a noble,” Lanca said. “I’m from the Merchant Caste.”

Another gong sounded and everyone looked down on the field. “So that’s House Holdir’s champion, Lady Gerta,” Bhelen called over to them. “She’s fighting House Rellig’s champion, Boyar Sergei.”

“Bhelen’s champion is fighting next,” Lanca said, shooting a flirty glance at Zevran. “Dagmar will fight after him.”

Rowena stopped paying attention to them as the two fighters approached each other. “Oh, come _on_! His stance is all wrong! She has a longsword, for Maker’s sake!”

Suddenly, Prince Bhelen roared in anger. “It looks like His Highness agrees with you,” Leliana remarked.

“How dare he get sick ten minutes before his match!” Bhelen yelled, jumping up from the throne in a rage. Shocked, his mistress cowered away from him. “Does he have any idea what sort of sacrifices I’ve made, letting him be my champion?”

Lanca snorted gently. “Looks like Gospodin Sasha enjoyed a little too much ale this time around…”

“Who the hell am I going to have replace him, huh? _Blyad’!_ ” He looked around angrily, trying to find a replacement. “Vartag, you can join, can’t you?”

The man snorted. “Not unless you want both me and your family’s honor to die down there.”

“ _Der’mo_! Is no one going to help me out?”

Rowena was standing before she was even aware she had made a decision. “I’ll do it.”

“ _Rowena_!” Both Wynne and Leliana tried to drag her down back into her seat, but she shook them off and stared directly at the prince. “I’ll do it,” she said calmly, her heart rate picking up in excitement. “I have a lot of experience, Your Highness. I won the Denerim tourney last year.”

The prince stared at her for a moment. “You know, of course, that if you win this for me, Harrowmont will refuse to work with you.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Leliana and Wynne both hissed, trying again to pull her down.

She ignored them. “My offer still stands, Your Highness.” It was time they took sides, she thought to herself, and from what it sounded like Bhelen would be the better choice for the city anyways. In any case, she really wanted a good fight.

Bhelen stared for a moment longer, then started nodding. “Good – good! Vartag, get her ready _now_ – Stone knows how long this match will last.”

“Of course.” Bhelen’s companion leapt to his feet and gestured to her. “Your Excellency, follow me, please.”

Leliana and Wynne both sent her death glares as she left the box, but she didn’t mind. It was time to show Orzammar what surfacers were made of.

* * *

 Over in Harrowmont’s box, Eruestan was having a hard time not wincing as the two fighters below threw blow after blow against each other. “Why does this one feel so much more intense?” he asked, jumping as House Holdir’s champion swiped at her opponent’s legs. “I didn’t care half as much during the melees.”

“‘Tis more personal this time around,” Morrigan said. “Now you only see two fighters, and you know that one of them must die. In a sense, ‘tis a struggle not between two warriors, but between life and death itself.”

“Maker, you’re cheerful,” Alistair said. “Anyways, I’m hungry – anyone want me to grab them some snacks?”

“I’m fine,” Eruestan said, grimacing. “I don’t think I could eat.”

“No problem!” He scowled at Morrigan. “I guess I could get you something, too.”

“I would not accept it even if you did,” she said coolly. He rolled his eyes and left the box. She coughed a little awkwardly and looked at Eruestan. “There’s something I need to talk with you about, Eruestan,” she said softly.

“Can it wait till later, Morrigan?” he asked. “I’m feeling a little sick.”

She tsked impatiently. “‘Tis a rather pressing issue – I know what Wynne is!”

Eruestan started and turned to her in apprehension. Before he could say anything, though, Harrowmont threw his cup to the ground. “What do you mean, she won’t come out of her room?” he bellowed at a messenger standing at his side.

“What’s the matter, Pyral?” Lady Daria asked in alarm.

“It’s that damn bronto-headed coward! Hand me that goblet!” The messenger quickly stooped down to hand the cup to the lord, who promptly threw it to the ground again. “She promised she wouldn’t do this to me, damn it!”

Lady Daria gasped. “She’s not backing out, is she?”

“Of course she’s backing out! Boy, cup!” The messenger handed it to him again, and Harrowmont chucked it away for a third time. “If I can’t find a replacement for her in the next fifteen minutes, I’m going to be the laughing stock of the entire city!” He turned to the two warriors sitting in his box. “Olga, Helmi, would you be able to…” Without looking at him, they both shook their heads. “Damn! Who else could…” His eyes fell on Eruestan and Morrigan, and Eruestan could immediately tell that something bad was going to happen. “Ser Surana,” Harrowmont said slowly, “I’m afraid I must ask something of you that I would normally never require of a guest. If you would be able to volunteer yourself in the arena…”

Eruestan frowned. True, he had faced worse before, but would declaring himself for Harrowmont be the best move politically? “I’m not sure, Your Lordship…”

“Perhaps you don’t understand the gravity of this ceremony, Your Excellency,” Harrowmont said. “If my champion forfeits before even entering the third round, I’ll be laughed out of Orzammar. My claim to the throne will be ruined, and Bhelen will be named king. I need someone down in that arena.”

Eruestan bit his lip. Here was actually an opportunity to eliminate one of the rivals for the throne and advance their cause without doing anything at all. At the same time, Harrowmont was the only candidate they had made a deal with. And if what Lady Daria had said about the prince was true…

Harrowmont saw his hesitation. “If you do this for me,” he said quickly, “I’ll pledge you all of Orzammar’s armies in the battle to come.”

Eruestan paused, glanced at Morrigan, and then glanced at Shaper Magda. “Would that be allowed?”

The old woman sighed. “Get it ratified with the Shaperate, and you can allow anything in this city.”

 _Damn_ , he thought to himself. “All right, Your Lordship. Sign with Morrigan – I’ll be your champion.”

“Excellent!” The dwarf clapped loudly, and one of his guards turned around. “Escort His Excellency to Boyar Dagmar’s dressing room – and tell that fool woman that the next time I see her, it better be at her Joining ceremony for the _Lyegion Myortvikh_!”

* * *

 Alistair walked into the booth moments after Eruestan left it, arms full of roasted nug ears and a bucket of fried cheese balls. “Sorry I’m late, the lines were _unbelievable_ —hang on.” He paused as he took in what was happening. “Morrigan, why are you signing a deal with Lord Harrowmont?”

The witch sighed. “Fear not, Alistair, I am not plotting behind your back. I am merely doing as Eruestan asked me and finishing our negotiations with His Lordship.”

Alistair frowned. He knew Morrigan too well to trust that. “Why couldn’t Eruestan do that himself?”

“The Warden has graciously agreed to champion me in the lists,” Harrowmont said, signing his own name with a flourish. “He is preparing to fight in the next round.”

“Oh!” That sounded strange. Still, he trusted Eruestan’s judgment, and the cheese balls smelled extremely good. “Does anyone want anything to eat? I bought extra.”

“Do not soil our hosts with your poison, Alistair,” Morrigan said, settling back in her seat.

He scowled at the witch. All she was good for was offering barbed comments and brooding. “You would know about poison, wouldn’t you?”

She looked back at him, clearly bored. “I know about a great deal of things, Alistair, unlike yourself.”

“Before this becomes a great battle of wits,” Lady Daria said, eyebrow raised, “I should inform you that the next fighters have taken the field.”

They both looked down and froze. Someone very familiar had walked into the arena. “Is that…?” Morrigan asked.

“What is Rowena doing there?” Alistair asked, jolting from his seat. “Who’s she fighting for?”

Harrowmont spat into his cup. “Prince Bhelen.”

Alistair grimaced. This was going to be tricky.

* * *

 “She’s certainly very good, isn’t she?” Bhelen asked, watching Rowena move on the floor below. “I— _oh!_ ” Everyone in the box gasped as the Warden kicked her opponent in the chest, sending him flying back a few feet.

Leliana, however, had seen Rowena fight too often to be impressed. “She’s had a lot of practice, Your Highness.” His mistress was a pretty girl, even if the tattoo across her left cheek ruined the rest of her face. She wondered where she had gotten it. There had been a lovely bard in Val Royeaux once, a tall young man who had been built like a statue, but he had thrown everything away with a similar tattoo after a night with a bottle of moss-wine. Maybe the same thing had happened to the dwarf girl. Regardless, her gown was beautiful, gold cloth and silver metalwork, even if Leliana could tell that she was not accustomed to wearing such finery. “I really must have a dress made here,” she said to Wynne. “It’d be one small point of luxury in all this, at least.”

“If you find the money for such things, let me know,” Zevran said. “I would kill for a new pair of boots.” He winked again at Lanca. “Do you get it?”

She blushed. “Yes, I…well, wait. No, no I don’t.”

“He’s an assassin,” Wynne sighed. “He could literally kill for a pair of boots.”

“I am very clever, no?” Zevran said. Lanca giggled as Leliana rolled her eyes. There was no need to inflate his ego any further.

“Well, that’s settled, then,” Wynne muttered as Rowena plunged her blade into her opponent’s chest. “I hope her fifteen minutes of glory were worth throwing all our negotiations with Harrowmont out the window.”

“The Wardens do as they please, Wynne,” Sten growled. “Regardless of honor or duty.”

“You can’t mean that, Sten,” Leliana said, looking back at him in shock. The Qunari, however, did not look back at her.

“It was a foolhardy decision,” Wynne sighed. “Though maybe it’s for the best that we choose one side from the beginning…Well, we’ll see, I suppose. In any case, the next fighters are coming out.”

“It’s Harrowmont’s champion next, right?” Leliana asked. “Her armor was lovely, I’d love to— _Eruestan?_ ”

“ _What_?” Both Wynne and Zevran shot up straight.

“What’s he doing down there?” the assassin said, his tone just a little too concerned to not be noticed. “He will be all right, will he not?”

“Of course he will,” Leliana said, smiling. She knew exactly what was going on. “He’s very good at—”

“He needs help!” Wynne cried, gripping the edges of the box. “His magic’s going to be useless!”

“What do you mean by that?” Zevran’s voice was harsh, harsher than Leliana had ever heard it. “He has strong magic, I’ve seen it – ice, fire, lightning—”

“Dwarves are extremely resistant to magic!” Wynne said, eyes on the field. “It’s why they’re able to mine lyrium, it’s why there are no dwarven mages – magic can only affect them indirectly!”

“What does that mean?” Leliana asked, suddenly beginning to become alarmed herself.

“All of his normal spells will be useless,” Wynne said, shrugging helplessly. “If he knows what he’s doing, he has other options – he can send something flying at them, shrink their armor…Anything that operates through a physical medium.”

“Will he know that?” Zevran said.

Her face looked pained. “He might – or he might not. If he doesn’t act fast, though, it won’t matter if he does or not.”

Eruestan was staring calmly at the warrior at the other end of the arena, and Leliana could feel her heart begin to thud. He looked tiny from where she was watching, and his opponent was a frightening mass of steel and battle-axe, his armor glinting in the light of the massive chandelier overhead.

Then the mage swiped out with his hand, summoning a ball of lightning and sending it crashing into the warrior’s chest. Leliana had seen him cast this spell hundreds of times, and every other time he had managed to send his enemies flying away from him with it. Now, however, the warrior was still charging at him with his axe held high.

She could see the shock on Eruestan’s face from her seat. He raised his hand again and a blue mist enveloped the warrior, who didn’t even break pace. Leliana gasped and stood up, her hands trembling at her side. Taking several steps back, Eruestan threw up a magical barrier in front of himself. The dwarf, however, broke through it like it was paper.

Before she could think, the dwarf’s axe swung through the air towards Eruestan’s neck. She opened her mouth to scream, just as someone else yelled out his name.

Leliana, Wynne, and Sten were all standing, their faces pale. Zevran, however, had jumped from his seat and cried the mage’s name, half-leaning out of the box. For a terrible, gut-wrenching moment, Leliana thought the axe had buried itself in Eruestan’s neck. Then, as no blood spurted out, she realized that Eruestan’s magic had caught the weapon in mid-air. For a moment, the arena was silent as the warrior struggled to pull his axe from the air. Then, as if moving in a dream, Eruestan flicked his wrists and slashed down with his hands, flipping the axe around and planting it into its owner’s helmet.

“He’s ok,” Zevran said in disbelief, sitting back down. Around them, the crowd booed as the dwarf’s corpse was dragged away into the tunnels. “He’s going to be ok.”

“For now, at least,” Lanca pointed out. “I wonder why he was chosen of all people to fight in the arena. Everyone knows mages are useless against the Dwarva.” She shot a look at Zevran, who was still staring down onto the field, and sighed. “Harrowmont must be quite a heartless man.”

“Surely His Lordship didn’t know about this!” Wynne gasped.

“I’m just saying, I’d be surprised if he didn’t,” Lanca said. “I suspect Harrowmont chose him for the same reasons he chose Dagmar. The allure was too enticing, even if he wasn’t likely to win.”

“Who’s he fighting next?” Zevran asked, suddenly paying her much less attention than earlier. His eyes were distant as he leaned forward onto the railing, taking a deep breath.

“Whoever wins this next match,” Lanca said, clearly slightly miffed. The crowd cheered as one of the fighters lost his head. “Which will be Boyar Baldur, fighting for House Dotan.”

“You realize what this means, though?” Leliana said, eyes wide. “If Rowena and Eruestan meet, they’ll have to fight. And if no one gets out of the arena alive…”

“Don’t trust your Stone before you’ve stepped on it,” Lanca said. “The mage probably won’t survive the next round.”

“What?” Zevran sat up abruptly, cutting her off. “What did you say?”

She looked up at him, confused. “That he may not survive the next round…” He had already stood up and was heading towards the exit.

“Zevran!” Leliana called. “Where are you going?”

The assassin ignored her. “Boyar Baldur, you said?” he asked Lanca. She nodded back at him, eyebrows furrowed. “I’ll be back.” Without looking back he left the box, leaving everyone completely bemused behind him.

* * *

 Meanwhile, Rowena was pacing back and forth in her dressing room, babbling excitedly to the attendant who had been assigned to her. “Now _this_ is what tournament fighting should be about,” she said, bouncing slightly. “This is just, I don’t know, so much more _intimate_ than Fereldan tourneys. You have no idea how much I’ve missed this!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Your Excellency,” her attendant said, cleaning off her sword. “Your next opponent is a Silent Sister. She won’t let you walk off the field that easily.”

Rowena waved him off. “I’m not afraid of any priestesses.” She paused for a moment. “Except maybe Leliana.”

“The Silent Sisters are no priestesses, Your Excellency,” the attendant said, handing her back her blade. “They are exceptional warriors, dedicated to the memory of Paragon Astyth the Grey. In tribute to her, they fight with no weapons and cut out their tongues.”

“Maker!” Rowena gasped, looking over at him in horror. “Why would they do that?”

“Paragon Astyth campaigned to have women enter the warrior caste,” he said. “When no one would listen, she cut out her own tongue and then won a Grand Provings bare-handed. The Silent Sisters commemorate her sacrifice to this day.”

“That sounds like Ser Aveline,” Rowena said. “Only she cut her hair, not her tongue.”

The dwarf shrugged. “Perhaps the Dwarva are just a little more dramatic. All the same, the Sisters shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“I’ve never been one to underestimate an opponent, don’t worry.” The gong sounded again, and a familiar thrill went down her spine. “Wish me luck!”

The tunnel leading to the arena was quiet, the muffled roars of the crowd coming from the other end. With a deep breath to calm herself, she stepped out into the light, the roars of the crowd echoing in her ears. Standing in this part of the arena was much different from observing in the stands. The light was harsher, the sounds of the crowd more deafening, the atmosphere much more tense. Her opponent was at the other end, wearing only a rough tunic. Rowena frowned and gripped her sword more tightly. No weapons _and_ no armor? Something wasn’t right.

She and the Sister approached each other, both wary of the other. Rowena readied her sword, waiting for the dwarf to attack. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the sister jumped forward.

Rowena hacked down with her sword. Still, out of nowhere, her feet were swept out from under her. She rolled away and tried to strike again, but her sword was suddenly kicked out of her hand. Fighting through her surprise, she blocked the Sister’s punch with her shield. It was strong, as if the dwarf was carrying a maul. Snarling, Rowena pushed up with her shield and sent the dwarf flying.

Rowena spun around and crouched into a defensive position. Her shield was slanted down between her and the dwarf, who had rolled into a warrior’s stance. With a grunt, Rowena charged forward and tried to blast her back. Instead, the dwarf grabbed the shield and flung her around. As the shield went flying, she crashed to the ground, gasping in her armor. Before she could move, the dwarf had jumped on her chest and was pummeling her face. Ducking under one of her fists, Rowena wrapped her arms around the Sister’s body and flipped her over, landing three quick strikes to the dwarf’s head before leaping up to grab her sword. Growling, the Sister grabbed at her leg again. However, this time she fell to her side and kicked her opponent hard in the face. Even as blood poured from her mouth, the Sister spun around and crouched to face Rowena, her eyes vicious.

Both were now bleeding freely onto the stone beneath them. The crowd was cheering, their voices thunder in the arena, but all Rowena could focus on was the sound of her own panting. Her sword was lying to her left, just out of reach. She feinted towards it, and then grabbed the Sister as she lunged in that direction. Throwing her to the ground, she reached for the sword again. Moving impossibly fast, the dwarf dragged her to the earth and, straddling her back, wrapped her arms around Rowena’s neck.

Her arms were strong, incredibly so, and Rowena couldn’t breathe. Struggling to move, she struck twice at the dwarf’s side, but the Sister did not move. Air was being squeezed out of her lungs, and slowly the arena started to go fuzzy. _No_ , she thought furiously. _I refuse to be killed by someone with no tongue_! Looking down, she saw a small, pointed rock lying within reach. In a burst of concentration, she grabbed it with her free hand and slammed the pointed end into the Sister’s eye.

The crowd screamed as the dwarf’s grip loosened, her blood dripping on Rowena’s neck. Shaking her off, Rowena turned around and stood up, her expression grim. The Sister was not yet dead. Disgusted, Rowena picked up her sword and with a single stroke ended her rival’s agony.

The crowd was booing now, mourning the loss of one of Orzammar’s finest, but Rowena paid no attention. Wiping the blood from her face, she brandished her sword and went back towards her dressing room. It was time to face her last opponent.

* * *

 Boyar Baldur was a big man, a highly irritable man, a man that did not like to be kept waiting. Standing in the tunnel before his next fight, he was in a particularly sour mood. His idiot squire was ten minutes late with his shield, and his match was about to start.

There were footsteps running down the tunnel, and he turned around in a rage. “ _Vot ty,_ ” he spat into the darkness. “ _Gdye ty byl, durak…_ ”

A knife shot from the shadows, plunging into his neck. “Good luck with the match, my friend,” a Topsider accent muttered, pushing him out into the arena.

* * *

 Eruestan was standing at the other end, hand twitching. His last match had been far too close for comfort. Now that he knew dwarves were resistant to magic, he wished he’d never volunteered to do Harrowmont’s dirty work. His attendant had given him a small dagger to try and defend himself with. It felt foolish in his hands, as useful as a butter knife.

This opponent, however, seemed less intimidating that the other had been. He was clutching at his neck, his sword still sheathed. Before the eyes of the arena, he took a step forward and stumbled to his knees.

Eruestan was in no mood to fall for any tricks. Heart racing, he flung out his hand and sent his dagger flying across the arena with magic, planting itself in the dwarf’s head.

“Well, he certainly took care of that,” Leliana giggled nervously as the dwarf below fell to the ground, dead. “Oh, there you are, Zevran – you missed it, Eruestan’s going to the finals.”

“Is he? Good.” The elf sounded casual as he took his seat next to Lanca, but Leliana could see that for some reason he was flushed. “It will be him and Rowena, then?”

“It appears so,” Wynne said, biting her lip. “You don’t think they’ll actually fight each other, will they?”

“It’s the rules of the Provings,” Lanca said. “They have to fight.”

“But they can dedicate the fight, can’t they?” Leliana asked. “There’s no need to kill themselves, correct?”

The dwarf shrugged. “With this crowd? I wouldn’t count on it.”

“They’ll think of a way out of this,” Wynne murmured. “They have to have a plan –  they have to know that they’re fighting each other.” She looked over at Leliana. “Don’t they?”

* * *

 “I don’t like that I don’t know who’s fighting for Harrowmont,” Rowena muttered in the tunnel. “I’d rather be prepared to confront my opponent.”

“My apologies, Your Excellency,” her attendant said. “All I’ve heard is that he’s an unconventional fighter.”

“I feel like that’s all anyone is in this arena.” The gong sounded again up above. She sighed and stepped forward, her body still aching from the beating she’d taken in the last round. With any luck, she’d finish this round quickly and join up with Eruestan to figure out what their next step should be.

As usual, the light in the arena blinded her as she stepped out onto the floor. The crowds were booing for some reason; could they all hate her so much? Then she looked across the field and saw who her opponent was.

She immediately sheathed her sword. Across the stadium, Eruestan lowered his hands as well, his face shocked. They approached each other in disbelief, ignoring the jeers of the crowd. “What are you doing here?” he hissed at her.

“I’m fighting for Bhelen!” she hissed back. “Why are you fighting for Harrowmont?”

“His champion backed out!” People were screaming now, jumping from their seats and throwing food at them. “What are we going to do?” he whispered, eyes darting around the stands. “Are we going to fight?”

That was the last thing Rowena wanted. Still, she had heard what Bhelen had said: the only way out was to kill or be killed. Then, suddenly, she remembered his caveat. “Bhelen or Harrowmont?” she asked.

He frowned at her. “What?”

“Citizens of Orzammar!” she bellowed, raising her hands. The stands fell silent as if by magic. Eruestan looked at her in surprise, but raised his hands as well. “We, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, in honor of your late King Endrin and your Ancestors, do dedicate this final round battle to—”

“To victory!” Eruestan cried, cutting her off. She shot him a look, but he nodded to reassure her. “We dedicate it to our combined alliance against the Blight!”

For a moment, the loud silence of a thousand spectators filled the arena. Then, with a great rumbling, the doors leading to the tunnels opened again. Grabbing each other’s hands, Eruestan and Rowena made their way to the exit as a storm of howls, jeers and insults began to rain down upon them. Spectators were starting to throw heavier items at them: boots, hats, even small rocks. Shocked, they hurried forward, ducking behind the doors and taking refuge in the darkness.

“That was insane,” Eruestan snapped, pushing forward. “How dare they both throw us against each other? And how dare they get upset when we don’t want to kill each other?”

“Let them think whatever they want,” Rowena said, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the tunnel. “We just need to get out of here before the crowd gets to us.”

Their companions were waiting for them in the lobby. “Eruestan!” Zevran said, running to them. “Are you all right?”

“I’m…I’m fine, Zev,” Eruestan said, obviously taken aback. “None of my rounds were that bad.”

“That’s not what Harrowmont thinks,” Alistair said. “We left the instant Rowena started talking – the man’s pissed.”

“The whole stadium’s pissed,” Leliana corrected. “They’re all watching the closing ceremonies, but we have to leave before—”

“ _Stop them_!” Before they could do anything, a whole squadron of guards appeared from nowhere and circled them, spears pointed at their chests. The group raised their hands in alarm.

The crowds were now pouring into the lobby, all of them hissing at the Wardens. Rolfdir pushed his way through, face sweaty. “Ah, Your Excellencies,” he panted, mopping his face. “I see you’re in a bit of a predicament.”

“That’s one word for it, yes,” Rowena said, glaring at the soldier in front of her.

“Zevran!” Lanca was pushing her way to the front, too. “Stay strong, handsome!”

“I see you’ve made a friend,” Eruestan said icily; Zevran’s face became rather hard.

“What is going on, Rolfdir?” Wynne asked. “Why are the guards attacking us?”

The dwarf clearly looked uncomfortable. “Well, you see, Your Excellencies, for your blatant disrespect of Provings protocol…you are hereby placed under house arrest by the Assembly.”

Rowena and Eruestan stared at each other and both cursed to themselves. This was going to complicate matters.


	34. Mire and Dust

_A hastily written note found lying on a table in Rendon Howe’s office. The note has been scribbled on the back of an opened official letter to the Empress of Orlais; a perfect copy without the message has been sealed and sent to Val Royeaux._

Celene,

I know you haven’t received my messages. Someone is watching me. Send troops across the border immediately. Maker send this to you.

Anora

* * *

  _Madame la Commandeuse de la Garde des Ombres d’Orlaïs,_

_We thank you for your impassioned reports from our outpost at the border and agree that the situation in Ferelden is extremely alarming. Anyone who would deny the emergence of a fifth Blight would be a fool. Unfortunately, this is exactly the policy the Lord Regent Loghain has pursued. While it beggars belief, the Fereldan Crown has firmly refused all Orlesian support. Out of respect for our eastern brethren, we cannot allow any of our subjects to cross the border, your illustrious selves included. Rest assured, the instant we receive a call for help, you will be the first to enter Ferelden._

_With most respectful salutations,_

_Celene de Valmont, Impératrice d’Orlaïs_

Radriline threw the letter into the fireplace in front of her. “ _Espèce de salope!_ ” She turned to face the other two Wardens in the room. “What does Celene think she’s playing at?” she snapped, her nostrils flaring. “She can’t possibly believe that we’ll defeat the Blight with polite letters and curtsying!”

The older woman seated at the table by the fire sighed. “The empress knows exactly what she’s doing,” Commander Clarel said. She ran a hand across her shaved head and stared back at her grimly. “She’s nothing if not a politician.”

Riordan, the man at Radriline’s side, frowned. “We’re supposed to be above politics, Clarel, especially during a Blight.” His Orlesian was fluent, though he still spoke with his native Fereldan accent. He was a tall, solid man with steady eyes and a firm jaw. Radriline had known him since she had first joined the Order, and there were few people she respected more – few left living, at least.

“Yes, I’ve been told as such,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Had we always stood by that policy, we might have been in a position to do something. But ever since Sophia Dryden…”

Radriline scoffed. “That damn woman – must we drag her name into every conversation about Ferelden? She’s been dead for two ages.”

“The Fereldan memory runs deep, Radriline,” Clarel said. “Dryden’s bid for the throne plunged the country into war and tore families apart – scars that have refused to heal for two ages. Don’t forget, either, that many blame the Order for weakening the country on the eve of the Orlesian invasion.”

“But you forget that I’m Fereldan, Commander,” Riordan said. “Our memories may run long, but we’d never turn away Wardens in the middle of a Blight.”

Clarel shook her head and rose from the table. “It’s not the people of Ferelden I’m worried about,” she said, approaching the fire. “It’s Loghain.”

Radriline frowned. “Surely no one would support him against us?”

“All that time in Ferelden, and you’re still unaware of how they feel about us?” Radriline pursed her lips and let Clarel continue. “Not only are we Grey Wardens, we are Orlesians – Orlesians led by a mage, I might add.” She flared a ball of flame in her fist to emphasize her point. “Entering the country with our reputation and our shared history would be far too risky.”

“Risky?” Radriline asked. “Since when do we worry about risks?”

“I am not speaking of personal risks, Radriline,” Clarel said, staring at the fireplace. “I command 200 men and women here in Orlais – more than were in Ferelden, to be sure, but not enough to take on a horde without an army at our backs. If I defy the empress’s wishes, that army will not be Orlesian. If I insult the Lord Regent, it will not be Fereldan, either.”

Riordan furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you saying, Commander?”

She turned around to look at them. “If the Order enters Ferelden and meets the wrath of Loghain, we will be destroyed, and the entire south of Thedas will be left defenseless against the Blight. I cannot take that risk.”

For a moment, Radriline couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You swore an oath to protect all of Thedas, Clarel, not just Orlais!”

“And if Orlais falls, how fast do you think the rest of the continent will follow?” The other two Wardens were silent. “No other nation can match the Empire’s strength: not Nevarra, not Antiva, not even Tevinter.” Clarel shook her head and looked back at them. “We _need_ Orlais at all her power to end this, and even then only with a union of foreign armies at our backs. If Ferelden is the price we must pay to save the rest of Thedas, then I will pay it with a heavy heart.”

“Should the people of Ferelden pay that price as well?” Radriline asked sharply. “Innocent men, women, and children slaughtered for the common good? We need to be there, Clarel!”

“Some of us are,” she replied. “We have Alistair, and the two Junior Wardens…”

“They’re children!” Radriline cried. “Even Alistair hardly understood the gravity of his position! They won’t know the first thing about fighting the Blight!”

She nodded. “But as of now, they are all we have.”

Riordan spat. “This is despicable, Commander.”

“I agree,” she replied quietly. “All we can hope is that Loghain will come to his senses, and that Val Royeaux will permit us to cross the border.”

“But Clarel—”

“Enough,” she said wearily, sitting back down at the table. “I know you are not a member of my Order, Radriline, but while I am Commander of the Grey in Orlais, no Warden shall leave the country. Am I understood?”

Radriline clenched her fists. “Yes.”

“Thank you.” Clarel reached for a stack of papers piled in front of her. “Now get some sleep, both of you. Training exercises begin early tomorrow.”

Nodding sullenly, the two left the commander’s cabin and stepped out into the mountain pass that led to the Fereldan border. The air was crisp and still, the only sounds the crunching of snow underfoot. In the evening light, they could just make out the torches of the soldiers Loghain had sent to defend the entry into Ferelden. “She’s a fool,” Radriline hissed. “The fact that—”

“Not now,” Riordan whispered, walking towards the Warden camp. “Later tonight.”

Confused, Radriline nodded and entered her tent alone. Riordan was up to something, there was no denying that.

She did not sleep well that night, hounded by the nightmares the rest of the Order was suffering from.  Luckily, she had never needed much sleep. Her father was a forester, and throughout her childhood she had loved to follow him into the woods at the earliest hours of the morning. She thought of her aging parents, nestled safely in the foothills of Northern Orlais, and shuddered with relief. Riordan’s people were from around Highever; no wonder he was so anxious to return.

“Duncan would have sent us through,” she said to herself, staring at the roof of her tent. The whole Order had been shaken by Ostagar, horrified that things had gone so poorly. She also knew that people pitied her for being the last surviving Fereldan Warden. Truth be told, the shame of missing the battle had almost made her sick in the beginning. She had initially comforted herself with the idea that Duncan had sent her to Orlais as a reserve in case things went poorly. Now that they were forbidden access to Ferelden, however…

Something rustled in her tent. She looked up quickly to see Riordan enter, slipping in stealthily like a shadow. They stared at each other for a moment in the darkness. “So what’s the plan?” she asked finally.

He grinned and threw two ropes at her feet. “How good are you at climbing?”

* * *

 Miles below them, Rowena and Alistair were strolling mindlessly through the Diamond Gardens, dragging Cormac along with them. “It’s something gray,” Alistair was saying. “And hard.”

Rowena sighed. “Is it a rock?”

“Third time you’ve guessed right,” Alistair said, whistling. “Impressive!”

She glanced over at him. “You keep picking ‘rock’, Alistair. The game’s getting easy.”

“Hey, I’ve got a limited amount of things to choose from here,” he said, shrugging. “I’m just working with my resources.”

They were now walking along a short wall overlooking the rest of the city. Cormac whined and rested his head upon it, looking down on the people passing below.

“I know, Cormy,” Rowena sighed, pulling him forward. “We all want to be down there, too, but so long as these bastards have us cooped up top…”

“Hey!” one of their guards said. “Language!”

Rowena glared at her and moved ahead coldly. A whole squadron of guards had been tailing them for three weeks, ever since their ill-fated night at the Provings. According to Rolfdir, while combatants were able to dedicate a victory to their sponsors, dedicating it to themselves was a blatant affront to the dwarven ancestors. Rowena hardly felt that devoting the match to a triumph against the Blight equaled an endorsement of the Grey Wardens. Regardless, it meant that a large portion of the dwarven population was clamoring for their heads. As precaution and punishment, the Assembly had put them under constant surveillance, restricting them to the Diamond Quarter for their safety. After putting up with her guard for so long, however, Rowena almost wished an angry mob would come kill them.

“I can’t stand it here anymore,” she murmured to Alistair, letting the sleeves of her gown drag over the rubies and sapphires of the stone flowers beneath them. They had been stunning the first time she had seen them, a field of gems shaped so delicately they looked as though they would crumble if you touched them. Now, however, she wanted to smash them all to bits. “I think I’m going crazy.”

“The house arrest can’t last long,” he whispered back. “Once the city calms down, they’ll let us out.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She sighed and leaned her arms against the observation wall. The magnificent spread of Orzammar now seemed dull and confining, almost claustrophobic. “I miss the sun,” she said miserably. “I miss the sky, and the breeze, and grass, and birds…”

He grabbed her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll be out of here in no time, don’t worry.”

 “Alistair!” Leliana called as she ran up to them, her own guard struggling to keep up with her. “Alistair, there’s a craftsman in the lobby for you – he says you need to sign something to have your transaction verified by the Shaperate.”

“What did you get done?” Rowena asked.

His eyes went a little wide. “Uh…nothing, nothing! I’ll just go take care of this!”

“That’s not mysterious at all,” she said, grinning. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No!” He practically shouted it, making both Leliana and her jump. Flushing, he shook his head and coughed. “I’ll only be a few minutes – it’s not worth the effort. See you soon!” He ran off towards the mansion, his own guard trailing behind him.

“He had your sword sharpened for you,” Leliana said, smirking.

Rowena sighed. “Yeah, I figured. It’s a good thing he’s cute.”

Leliana winked and leaned up against the wall with her. “I bet he’s cute in a lot of things.”

Rowena scowled. “Like I’d have any way of knowing. I can’t even go to sleep alone without a whole squadron of arseholes gawking at me.”

“Who knows? You might like being watched.” Rowena shot her a look. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.”

 “I’ll get back to you on that,” Rowena said, smiling in spite of herself. “In any case, how’s your morning been?”

She shrugged. The bard had taken to wearing a lot of light silk dresses with floral patterns, almost in a effort to bring a bit of nature into the city with her. “I haven’t done much. I tried having a lesson in Dwarven, but my tutor couldn’t get past the security check. I decided to go for a walk instead.”

“Enjoying the weather?” Rowena asked drily. Leliana rolled her eyes and looked out over the city, sighing to herself. Suddenly, a shadow loomed over them. They looked over to see Sten shuffling past with his terrified guard, scowling deeply at both of them.

“How is he still angry?” Leliana asked quietly. “Is grudge-holding also a part of the Qun?”

“It’s all my fault,” Rowena said with a grimace. “I should have let him see that smith when he asked to – with the way things are going now, he’s never going to get his sword.”

“You had no way of knowing how things would turn out,” Leliana pointed out. “You can’t see the future.”

“I feel very aware of that right now,” Rowena said, waving a bee from her face. “The more time we spend here, the more lost and confused I feel. I almost wish we could just take on the entire city and storm through the front gates.”

“We can keep that option on the table,” Leliana said, scratching Cormac’s head. “And don’t lose hope! The Maker will guide us through this, I know he will!”

Rowena scoffed. “In that case, he better start guiding us fast.”

“Oh, there you two are,” someone said wearily behind them. They turned around to see Eruestan and Wynne approaching from the mansion. “What have you been up to?” Eruestan asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Absolutely nothing,” Rowena replied. “How was the Assembly?”

The two mages glanced at each other. “Well, we’ve learned a lot about the feud between House Oshan and House Meren,” Eruestan said. “There’s also a curfew set in place throughout the city after midnight – apparently tensions are running high on the streets. As for any useful information, though…”

“If I learned anything in Orlais, it’s that no information is useless information,” Leliana said. She paused. “Also, that I really don’t look good in orange.”

“It’d be easier if they’d just let us speak,” Wynne said. She looked exhausted, her eyes ringed by dark bags. “Surely even they could see that it’s ridiculous to keep Grey Wardens locked up during a Blight?”

“I don’t know – ‘ridiculous’ hasn’t ever stopped them before,” Rowena said.

“Watch it, Topsider!” one of the guards snapped.

She was getting close to cracking. “Bite. Me.”

“My dear friend, if you are looking to be bitten, you need only ask!” Zevran said, walking up to them with his arm around a young woman. “I am more than willing to relieve you of any tension you might have.”

She raised an eyebrow and glanced at his companion. “You seem a little occupied already.”

“Ah, yes, how rude of me!” Zevran said, feigning embarrassment. “My friends, you remember Lanca, of course.”

“Hello, Your Excellencies,” she said, giggling. “It’s so nice to be able to chat with Zevvie’s friends.”

For a moment, Rowena was convinced she had misheard her. “Zevvie?”

Eruestan nudged her in the side. “It’s nice to see you again, Lanca,” he said politely, extending a hand to her.

The dwarf looked up at him and narrowed her eyes, all the while smiling brightly. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Eruestan’s smile became a little forced. “Five times now, Lanca.”

“Hm,” she sniffed. “I don’t recall.”

“We should be going,” Zevran said quickly, catching Rowena’s glare. “We have some business to attend to in my bedchamber.”

Lanca slapped his arm gently. “Oh, Zevvie! How naughty!”

They watched him leave in silence. “How can Zevran _stand_ her?” Rowena asked. “She’s worse than the Blight!”

“Oh, come on, you don’t have to be mean for my sake,” Eruestan said. “She’s fine – I’m glad they’re enjoying themselves.”

 Everyone stared at him.

“I am!” he said, frowning. “I’m over it!”

“Oh, Eruestan,” Wynne said kindly. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I mean it! We can be friends again! It’s all in the past!”

“Someone’s getting a little defensive,” Leliana murmured.

“I’m not getting defensive!” Eruestan said. “And Zevran has a right to do whatever – and whomever – he wants, ok? I really, really don’t mind!”

Rowena paused, not believing a word he was saying. “I’m serious, though, she’s pretty much an Archdemon.”

“At least she’s prettier,” he sighed. “Anyways, I’m going inside – I want to read a little before dinner. I’ll see you all later.”

“He’s so not over it,” Rowena said as he walked back towards the house. The bee buzzed past her face again; she waved it away, annoyed. “He can lie all he wants, no one’s going to believe him.”

“He does try, though,” Wynne said, clucking her tongue. “And who knows? This might be for the best.”

“What do you mean?” Leliana asked.

She hesitated. “Nothing…just that romance can be a little difficult for a Warden. It might be better for him to be unattached.”

“I mean, not all Warden relationships are terrible,” Rowena pointed out. “So far I’m happy with Alistair.”

The mage smiled faintly. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

Rowena frowned. “What do you mean, ‘you suppose’?”

“We should go inside, Wynne,” Leliana said quickly, taking a step forward. “You look tired.”

Rowena wanted to find out what exactly Wynne was getting at; however, after looking at her she could tell that Leliana was right. “You’ve had a long day, you should rest,” she agreed. “I’m going to stay out for a little bit.”

The two nodded and walked away. Rowena sighed and sat down on a bench, stretching out her legs as she absentmindedly stroked Cormac’s hair. The bee was buzzing around her again. “I’m not a flower, get away from me,” she muttered. Then she realized that the gems she was sitting next to weren’t flowers, either, and that bees didn’t live underground.

There was a flash of light, and suddenly Morrigan was standing next to her. Cormac barked in surprise as Rowena’s guard yelped and stumbled backwards, cracking her head against the ground. “Andraste’s tits, Morrigan!” Rowena gasped, jumping up from her seat. The guard was lying unconscious on the ground. “You could have killed her!”

“‘Twould almost have been preferable if I had,” the witch said in disdain, sitting down on the bench. “We are not animals to be gawked at.”

Rowena shot her a look. “You were literally a bee about five seconds ago.”

She ignored this. “I did not come here to discuss semantics, Rowena. There is something I must talk with you about.”

Rowena sat down next to her, her heart rate slowly returning to normal. “What’s the matter?”

“There are two things,” Morrigan said slowly. “The first I have been trying to tell you since we arrived here – if it hadn’t taken me so long to master this form, I would have been able to find you alone sooner.”

Rowena suddenly felt uneasy. “Morrigan, what did you do to your guard?”

She waved her hand. “Never mind that. What I have to tell you has to do with Wynne…”

The more Rowena listened to the witch, the wider her eyes got. “You’re sure she’s an Abomination?” she whispered as Morrigan finished.

She nodded. “By definition, at least. It is clear that she is drawing energy from an outside source, hence the fainting spells and the strange bursts of power.”

Rowena thought back to the leering beasts in the Circle Tower, with their horrible snarls and grimaces. “But she looks so different from the others…”

“Different spirits possess us in different ways,” Morrigan replied. “Remember that when the Pride Demon possessed Uldred, he looked the same as he always had.”

Rowena drew in her breath. “You think she’s being possessed by a Pride Demon?”

Morrigan shrugged. “I cannot say. Eruestan may be able to tell you more – he is more familiar with the different types of possession than I am.”

She paused, remembering Eruestan’s words back at Redcliffe. “He might already know, actually,” she said. “I’ll have to ask him about it. Maker’s breath, though, Morrigan, do you really think a demon could disguise itself as a human for so long?”

The witch hesitated. “Speaking of which, there is something else I need to discuss—”

Before she could continue, Alistair was running up to them. “Rowena!” he called, smiling. “Oh. Morrigan.”

The witch’s face went black. “Hello, Halfwit.”

He scowled at her and then looked at the dwarf at their feet. “What happened to her?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rowena said. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he said, glaring at Morrigan. “It’s just…well, we have a visitor.”

Five minutes later they were standing in the mansion’s parlor, staring at the dwarven woman who had come to meet them. “We’re certainly pleased to have you,” Eruestan was saying. “It’s been a while since we’ve had any company. You said your name was Lady…?”

She bowed her head. She was small, even for a dwarf, and her hair was bright red. Most of her face, however, was obscured by a silk veil that was draped beneath her eyes. “I assure Your Excellencies, the pleasure is all mine,” she murmured in a soft voice. Her accent was perfect, though she spoke stiffly and too formally. “And know that I am no lady, merely a representative of House Aeducan.”

Leliana gasped. “I thought I recognized you! You’re Prince Bhelen’s paramour!”

The woman bowed her head again. “I must beg your pardon. I am indeed Rica Brosca.”

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged a look. “Please, have a seat, then,” Eruestan said. “And make yourself comfortable – I’m sure someone could take your veil…”

She shook her head. “My veil is not to hide my identity; people of my status are normally affronts to polite society. I wear this covering to be discreet, to not offend anyone with my presence. Please know that I come here not to insult you, but to offer you a proposition.”

Rowena frowned. “What kind of proposition?”

She nodded at her. “Well, to begin with…” She snapped her fingers. Suddenly, all the guards in the room stood up straight and marched out the door. “Though His Majesty’s throne is currently contested, he still holds great power in Orzammar,” she said, taking a seat. “He could easily get you out of your predicament…provided you give us the assistance we seek.”

“Helping Prince Bhelen put us in this situation in the first place,” Rowena pointed out.

“And His Majesty regrets that deeply,” Rica said hastily. “However, you must realize that your actions in the arena are what brought you here, not any decision on King Bhelen’s part – or Lord Harrowmont’s, for that matter.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it…”

“But discussing the past is useless, Wardens,” Rica said. “Do you want out of your house arrest? For if not, I can very easily head back to the palace.”

Eruestan sighed. “There’s no need for that. What do you want from us?”

“Very good.” She hesitated, coughing slightly. “Tell me, what do you know of Dust Town?”

“Very little,” Wynne replied. She was slumped slightly in her chair, clearly trying to force herself to stay awake. “Until three weeks ago we had no idea it even existed.”

“Not many people speak of it – especially not here in the Diamond Quarter,” Rica said. “There are those that believe that even mentioning the Casteless is an insult to the Ancestors.”

“Is there anything that _doesn’t_ insult the Ancestors?” Alistair asked. “They must have been pretty irritable people.”

Rica laughed gently. “I would not know – as a Casteless myself, I have no Ancestors. For that is what we are: dwarves cut away from the Dwarva. According to the ancient laws of Orzammar, we have no connection to the Stone, the Ancestors, or any part of our culture. For all intents and purposes, we do not exist, and neither does Dust Town. No money is spent on us, and no attention is given us. Thus, poverty, disease, and crime are rampant in our part of the city.”

“That’s terrible!” Leliana cried.

“But it doesn’t explain why you need us,” Eruestan said, crossing his arms. “I don’t think there’s much we can do to change the caste system.”

“That is not why we need you,” she replied. “As I said, crime is a part of daily life in Dust Town – the worst comes from the cartas, organized criminals who smuggle lyrium and gold out of Orzammar’s mines and sell them on the surface. They are bloodthirsty thugs, absolutely vicious, and they are strangling the life source of the entire city.”

“And so you want us to infiltrate them and destroy them,” Alistair finished.

“Not quite.” She paused. “You see, His Majesty wishes to take the cartas on himself. He feels it will be part of his legacy in the city’s history. However, in the meantime, the cartas have imprisoned someone for months that he would rather see freed. If you can break into the carta prison, rescue the hostage, and return her to the Royal Palace, King Bhelen can assure you your freedom.”

“Can we get this in writing?” Wynne asked.

Rica shook her head. “The very nature of this operation is shrouded in secrecy. No one can know that you are setting out on this mission. Unfortunately, you will have to rely on the King’s good word to see your deal done.”

“Forgive me, but this seems suspicious,” Eruestan said. “Who is this prisoner?”

Though her mouth was covered, Rowena could tell from her eyes that Rica was smiling. “She is Casteless, like me,” she said. “She is far cleverer than me, however, and much more resilient. The fact that she has survived this long in their prisons is a testament to that.”

“You know her, then?” Zevran asked.

Rica nodded. “Yes.”

“Intimately?”

Rica furrowed her eyebrows. “Yes?”

He leaned forward. “How intimately, exactly?”

“Zevran, don’t be disgusting,” Rowena sighed.

“And in any case, the dwarf in question is my younger sister,” Rica said stiffly. “Natia. She worked for the cartas as a tunnel runner, smuggling goods to the Surface. A few months ago, she drew them much unwanted attention when she illegally entered a Provings and won. She’s been locked in a cell ever since.”

“And you know she is not dead?” Morrigan asked.

Rica pulled a roll of parchment from her sleeve. “I received this message a few days ago,” she said. “It’s a ransom note, written in her own handwriting. The mark at the top is a sign from our childhood – we used it to mark places we’d hid toys or food. She had to have been alive when this was written.”

Rowena took the note and skimmed it over. Leliana leaned over her shoulder, reading it as well. “This could have been written months ago, though,” she said. “Why wait until now to ask for ransom?”

Rica shrugged. “I am not certain. All I know is that there is a possibility that my sister is still alive, and in terrible danger.”

“And Prince Bhelen will join our side if she’s released?” Rowena asked.

“ _King_ Bhelen has promised it,” Rica said fiercely. “I have made Him swear by the Stone and by the Ancestors, by every Paragon in Orzammar, by me and the son I carry for him. Do this for us, and His Majesty will follow through.”

Rowena liked the passion in her voice. It reminded her of how she felt about her own brother, and her worries about his safety. “Of course we want to help you, Rica,” she said, glancing at Eruestan, “but with all the security surrounding us…”

“That can be taken care of,” she said, her voice softening. “As you may know, there is a curfew set in place in the city after midnight. No one will be on the streets. As for the guards, His Majesty will take care of that as well.”

“And after that?” Leliana asked. “How are we supposed to find this carta?”

“I will accompany you,” Rica said. “I am…familiar, let’s say, with how the cartas operate. Once we’re there, I can figure out how to best get to Natia.”

“And how do we know you’re not leading us into a trap?” Leliana asked quietly.

“On the honor of House Aeducan, they will not.” Rica stood up. “Please, Wardens, I beg you. All I want is to see my sister set free.”

There was silence for a moment. “Well, what do we think?” Eruestan asked the others.

“I would say it sounds foolish, but that has never stopped us before,” Morrigan said. “Do as you will, though – criticizing your folly only leads to a headache.”

“I’m sorry, but this is way too suspicious,” Leliana said. “There’s no way we can get involved in something so shady.”

“Everything would be, though, in our circumstances,” Rowena replied. “The only way any can contact us now is in secret – there’s nothing else we can do.”

“Unfortunately, I agree,” Wynne said, yawning. “Whether we like it or not, we’ve put ourselves in a tricky situation.”

Sten grunted. “‘We’?” Everyone glanced at him, but he said nothing else.

“Well, I say yes as well,” Alistair said. “Anything to get out of here.”

“And so long as we are back at a decent hour, I agree as well,” Zevran said. “I will, however, already be having a long, sleepless night, so please, let us be timely.”

Eruestan’s smile had become strained. “So it’s settled, then. We’ll help you, Rica.”

She bowed for the third time, moving so quickly her veil shook. “Thank you,” she said fervently. “A million times, thank you. This debt will never be forgotten.” Collecting herself, she drew up straight and readjusted her face covering. “I will come fetch you at midnight,” she said. “Until then…” She clapped her hands, and with a great clamor the guards filed back in. “Good luck, Your Excellencies.” She then left the room, her scarf clutched to her face.

The room was silent for a moment. “This is _such_ a bad idea,” Leliana said.

“Not now,” Eruestan said quickly, eyeing their guards. “We’ll talk about this later. For now, we should all try and rest – we’ll need our energy for tonight.”

* * *

 The rest of the day was quiet. Long since accustomed to their house arrest,  everyone had settled into their favorite parts of the mansion in an effort to pass the time. For Eruestan, this was the library, a small room in the back of the house that had instantly made him feel right at home. It was lined with books in a variety of languages and held large couches and chairs that were perfect for reading. Since he had found it, he had started greatly preferring it to his own bedroom. His goal for the past few weeks had been to fully understand the dwarven resistance to magic; along the way, he had begun to realize how large a gap there was in his knowledge of Dwarven culture and language. At the moment he was in the middle of a book on the history of Orzammar. “Was there really a two year period where the Servant Caste ruled the city?” he asked his guard in wonder.

The man rolled his eyes, obviously bored. “Does it look like I care?”

“Fair enough.” He went back to the book, furrowing his brow as he tried to sort through the long Dwarven names and complicated battles. Then, the door opened and Rowena and Cormac walked in.

For a moment he thought he was hallucinating. “You do know that this is a library, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” she said with a grimace. “I’m only here because there’s something I need to talk to you about…which means you two” (she pointed to their guards) “need to leave us be.”

Her guard frowned at her. For some reason, there was a large bandage wrapped around her head. “That’s enough private conversations for the day,” she said. “We have orders from the Assembly to—”

Cormac started to growl softly, and Rowena put a hand on his head. “Look, I have been very compliant with your city for a very long time,” she said. “But now I’m getting restless, just like my hound here, and seeing that this little house arrest experiment might be ending soon, I’m getting impatient – and nothing good happens when I’m impatient. Eruestan, can you tell us who’s more vicious, Cormac or me?”

He reflected on that for a moment. “Honestly? A bit of a toss-up.”

The guards looked from the dog’s bared teeth to Rowena’s glare. “We’ll be waiting outside,” one of them said quickly.

“Thank you.” She sat down on the couch next to Eruestan as they left the room, scratching behind Cormac’s ears. “So, like I said, I need your opinion on something…”

He sighed. “If this is about Alistair’s rash again, Wynne and I both looked at it, I’m telling you he’ll be all right…”

“It’s not about that,” she said. “Though you do have to admit that it looked pretty bad, right?” He shrugged. “Well, in any case, this is something about Wynne.”

Eruestan closed his book and looked at her warily. “What do you mean?”

She sighed. “Look, I don’t understand everything Morrigan told me, but the basic idea was that Wynne’s an Abomination? Does that even make sense?”

The jig was up. “Yes,” he said. “Because she is.”

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment. “That can’t be good.”

“It’s not,” he said. “Not at all, actually. At any moment the spirit sustaining her could completely take over, turning her into a powerful monster that we’d have to kill.”

“Maker,” Rowena breathed. “So…are we going to do anything about it?”

He shrugged helplessly. “To be honest, I’ve got no idea. Wynne says she’s in control, and I trust her knowledge, but this is unlike anything I’ve ever heard of before. I was waiting to find someone else I could talk to about it before I said anything…You said Morrigan knows, though?”

She nodded. “She figured it out on her own. I don’t think she’ll tell anyone else – if only because she hates everyone else.”

“Small blessings,” Eruestan said. “Well, good. I don’t want anyone finding out before we decide what to do.”

“Find out what?” someone asked. They looked up to see Zevran standing in the doorway with his guard. “How handsome I am?”

“Damn,” Rowena said flatly. “You found us out.”

“We’re not talking about anything important, Zevran,” Eruestan said, aware that his voice suddenly sounded horribly upbeat. “Is there anything you need?”

“In fact, there is.” He walked up to the nearest shelf and began browsing it. “Forgive me for interrupting what must be very secretive Grey Warden matters, but I am told that there is a manual here detailing the most scandalous of Dwarven sexual techniques and I must find it.”

Some of the excitement left Eruestan’s voice. All of a sudden he was imagining the assassin in a variety of poses with Lanca, each more outrageous than the last. Keeping a positive attitude was going to be harder than he thought. “Middle bookcase, bottom shelf,” he said.

Rowena snorted. “You answered that one really quickly.”

To his horror, he could feel his cheeks flush. “I spend a lot of time in here, that’s all.” They both glanced at him, and Rowena picked herself up gingerly from the couch. “Meaning I know where all the books are!” he said quickly. “I’m not…you know…using the book to…I’m not…” His voice trailed off as his face turned completely red.

Both Zevran and Rowena looked like they were struggling to keep from smiling. “Of course,” the assassin said, bending down and picking up the book. “In that case, I should let you get back to your…discussion…”

“Zevran! What did I say about being disgusting?” Rowena called after him. “And for Maker’s sake, Eruestan, stop blushing so much. You’re supposed to be over him, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” Eruestan groaned, wishing the chair he was sitting in would swallow him whole. “I _am_ over him, it’s just—”

“It’s just that you can’t stop thinking about him pushing you against a wall, running his hands through your hair and pressing his hot, muscled body against your quivering flesh as you—”

The room had gotten remarkably warmer. “Maker’s breath, Rowena!”

She started and looked up at him. “Uh…sorry about that…I think I was projecting a little.”

He huffed and looked over at her. “Rough time with Alistair?”

“It’s not even that,” she sighed, throwing herself against the couch. “He’s so sweet, and things are going really well – it’s just physically…” She shrugged. “But did you know he got my sword sharpened for me? He had a smith come to the mansion and everything.”

“Stop telling me about how happy your love life is,” Eruestan sighed. “It’s a good thing neither of us have to defeat the Blight with sexual prowess, though. Otherwise the horde’d be at Minrathous by next week.”

“They might already be,” she said. She sat up and turned to him. “I know I’m repeating myself here, but Eruestan, we _have_ to get out of Orzammar. We’ve already lost the south to the darkspawn – Maker knows how far they’ve gotten by now.”

“You’re right,” he said. “But hopefully Bhelen will be true to his word and get us out of here. To be fair, though, the more I think about it, the more I doubt that’s going to happen.”

Rowena frowned. “Rica believed he was telling the truth.”

“But Rica won’t be the one following through with the deal.” He sighed. “I don’t think we’re walking into a trap – if Bhelen wanted to kill us, he could do it here in the Diamond Quarter. But I doubt he’s going to get us freed just for helping out his lover’s sister.”

“Well, I don’t mind,” Rowena said. “Even if we get nothing out of it, I’ll feel better about helping them out.”

“Plus, we might gain some information on the other castes out on the street tonight, if we play our cards right.” He glanced at the clock over the mantle; still five hours to go. “I’m going to get some sleep,” he said. “She’ll be coming back soon.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” She stood up and turned to leave. “You’re sleeping in here?”

He hesitated. “It might be…quieter in here, that’s all.”

“And far away from Zevran’s bedroom?” Both she and her dog squinted at him. “Honestly, Eruestan, are you even fooling yourself?”

“I’m trying,” he muttered. She rolled her eyes and left, letting him drift into an uncomfortable sleep.

* * *

  _She was standing on a cliff, looking down on a churning sea made of darkspawn. In the distance Castle Cousland burned, a searing wound on the landscape. She turned to run, but lightning struck the earth behind her and sent her falling into the sea below…_

With a gasp Rowena was awake again. Her room was dark and silent, with only the sound of Cormac’s light snoring beside her. Something was off, and for a moment she couldn’t figure out what. Then it hit her: her guard was gone.

She was out of bed in an instant. She threw on her clothes: an armored shirt, trousers, and a pair of boots. Nudging Cormac awake, she attached her scabbard around her waist and tied back her hair. Already her pulse was quickening; she felt almost giddy to finally be doing something.

The clock chimed twelve. On cue, all the doors in the house opened, and everyone else on the landing left their rooms. For a moment they all stared at each other in silence. “Do you think they’re here yet?” Alistair whispered.

“Everyone?” Eruestan called gently from downstairs. “We’re down here!”

Rowena led the others down the stairs and into the parlor, where Eruestan was standing awkwardly with Rica in front of the fireplace. The dwarf turned around and bowed to them. “Greetings, Wardens,” she said, standing straight again. She had gotten rid of her veil, exchanging it for a deep blue set of armor and a hood. “Your Excellencies, I cannot thank you enough for taking part in this mission. My family will never forget the service you are doing us this night. But Your Excellencies, I must beseech you to hurry. Our window of opportunity is not very long.”

They left the house and stepped out onto the street. Rowena immediately felt uneasy. The normally bustling cavern of Orzammar was now deadly quiet, a heavy silence that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Rica began leading them down the road heading out of the Diamond Quarter. Despite the late hour, no guards were to be seen.

“How did you call off the City Watch?” Leliana whispered. “I don’t see any patrols out on the streets.”

“They are out there – we are just not supposed to run into them,” Rica said. “His Majesty has many friends among the guards. The right connections made – the right coins in the right pockets – and the Watch can be convinced to do many things. So long as we keep to our path away from their patrols, we will have no trouble.”

“What happens if we run into them?” Eruestan asked nervously.

“Nothing good,” Rica said. “You will be carted off to prison, and I will be beaten and sent back to Dust Town. The Casteless are not supposed to be far from their noble protectors.”

 “Rica, I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Wynne said. She was leaning heavily on her staff; Rowena suddenly wondered if they shouldn’t have let her stay at home. “All this time I was told that the caste system was designed to give everyone a place in dwarven society – _vseymu svayo myesta_ – but when it comes to the Casteless, that all seems to be flipped on its head. You aren’t mentioned in any of the books on Orzammar and not even the servants will talk about you.”

“It would be a disgrace to the Dwarva if they did,” Rica said gently. “Everyone does have a place in the city, and the Casteless are at the very bottom. In everyone else’s estimation, we are the descendants of thugs, murderers, and thieves. Our very existence is an affront to the Stone and to the Ancestors. Once this mark is branded across our faces, we are dead to the rest of the city.”

“You’re forced to have those tattoos?” Leliana gasped. “That’s horrible!”

“That is Orzammar,” Rica said, smiling ruefully. “It is the way this city has been run since its founding.”

“But you can’t just condemn an entire section of the population because of their birth!” she said. “Even in Orlais the poor have a chance to rise to the top.”

“I believe there are many in Orlais who would disagree with you,” Zevran said.

Leliana tutted. “Well, yes, it’s difficult, but it’s still possible! Even now an elf is chief lady-in-waiting to the empress!”

 “I was told every society has stragglers,” Rica said. “That is how they justify it to themselves: if we didn’t have the bottom classes, we would all collapse.”

"The Qunari don't," Leliana argued. "The Qun says that every person has a role to play, that every life has worth. Isn't that right, Sten?" There was no answer. "Sten?"

They turned around. The Qunari was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's he gone?" Eruestan asked. "Was he attacked?"

Rowena felt her stomach clench. "Rica, are we in the Smith Quarter?"

She nodded. "Why?"

Rowena looked over at Eruestan. "He's gone to find Master Janar."

Rica gasped. "He cannot just wander through the city! If he is caught by anyone, you will all be imprisoned!"

Eruestan swore loudly. "I'm going to go find him."

"No, let me go," Rowena said quickly. "I might be able to talk some sense into him."

He frowned. "No offense, but I'm usually better at talking to people."

"But Sten respects me more," Rowena countered. "You know he'll be more open to what I have to say."

“Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves here?” Alistair asked. "You think you can even find him?"

"If you can find a vantage point, you can use it to see where he is," Leliana said.

That gave her an idea. "Morrigan, can you still take that bee form?"

"Bee form?" everyone else asked. There was suddenly a flash of light and a bee was hovering where Morrigan was once standing.

Alistair whistled. "Great – we found a way to make Morrigan even more unpleasant. Oy!" He ducked as the bee dove into his face. "I'd swat you if I wasn't convinced it'd release a demon!"

"Don't joke like that," Rowena said quickly, glancing over at Wynne.

"This is perfect, though!" Leliana said.

"I agree," Zevran said. "The possibilities for this are endless…"

"I don't even want to know what that means, Zevran," Leliana said with a grimace. "But it's perfect because now she can see the whole city for us!"

"Good point," Rowena said. "Morrigan, fly ahead of me and help me find Sten, and then try to keep an eye on the city for us if you can." The bee flew around in two circles before flying up towards the top of the city.

"How do you think she manages to keep her clothes on when she does that?" Zevran asked.

"Magic works in mysterious ways, Zev," Eruestan sighed. "You should get moving, though,” he said to Rowena. “Meet us back at the mansion tonight, and good luck!"

She nodded and took off down the nearest alley. Eruestan sighed and watched as she and Cormac disappeared around the corner. "Why does nothing we ever do go to plan?" he asked the others.

“Probably because we have really bad plans,” Alistair said. “Let’s get moving – the city’s giving me the creeps.”

They were passing by the tavern now. To Eruestan's surprise, their old friend the drunk dwarf was nowhere to be found. "Huh. I almost miss getting leered at."

"Yes, how will we survive without someone commenting on our bosoms?" Wynne said. "Rica, how far are we from Dust Town?"

"The entrance is in the other end of the city," she said. "We shall have to start taking the back roads, however; the Aeducan Prospect ends before you can reach the neighborhood."

They began their descent past the Proving Arena. The houses here began to get smaller and more crowded, eerily silent under the curfew. Though the grandeur of the Diamond Quarter was gone, the area (which Rica said was the Artisan and Servant Quarters) was still very clean, and several houses bore intricate designs and bright colors. For all its coziness, he felt ill at ease. It may have been embarrassing to admit, but he had gotten used to the palaces of the nobility. He wondered what it would be like to have grown up in that part of the city, whether the owners of those pretty houses were happy with their lots in life.

They were approaching a large wall made of stone; the Aeducan Prospect seemed to end in the mountain's face. Rica, however, stopped in front of an alley that ended in darkness. "This leads to the entrance to Dust Town,” she said. “As you can see, not many frequent it."

Eruestan peered warily into the shadows. "Rica, how secure is this alley?"

"Not secure at all," Rica replied. "From this point on you would all be wise to keep a constant watch for any attackers. Murder is a common part of daily life in Dust Town, let alone at night."

"Can't wait," Eruestan said, frowning. "Let's get moving."

He walked into the darkness first, eyes alert. The first thing he noticed was the stench, a horrible mixture of human waste and decay. Trash and refuse lined the alley, pooling in foul puddles that poisoned the air around them. Compared to the splendor of the rest of Orzammar, the alley alone felt like a different city altogether. Eruestan scanned the passageway, trying to see if anyone was lurking nearby. It was covered in shadow, however, providing perfect cover for anyone hoping to attack.

But no attack happened. The alley twisted and turned until it ended at a small wooden door in the middle of a large stone wall. Rica stepped forward and pushed it open. "Welcome to Dust Town, Your Excellencies," she said, walking through. "Try to keep from crying."

* * *

 Meanwhile, far above them in the Smith Quarter, Rowena had decided she was going to pummel Sten once she found him.

For someone as large as the Qunari, he was proving surprisingly difficult to track down. Even with Morrigan’s help, Rowena and Cormac had been circling around the Smith Quarter for a half hour, ducking into alleys and crouching behind corners whenever a patrol passed by. Soon they were hopelessly lost, wandering through streets that were all beginning to resemble each other.

There was a flash of light beside her as she turned around a corner. “We’ve already been down here,” Morrigan said, stretching her arms. “We should turn around and head the other way.”

“You already said he isn’t down there, either,” Rowena said, scanning the signs around them. Dwarven runes made about as much sense to her as random cracks in the street, but making the effort at least helped her feel like she was doing something. “How are you even supposed to read these?” she sighed, turning back to Morrigan. Before the witch could answer, the sound of an approaching patrol made the two of them freeze. “Morrigan, down here!” Rowena hissed, pointing to a nearby alley that was shrouded in shadow. The two women ran around the corner and pressed themselves against the wall, watching as the guards march past. “This sword better be worth it, Sten,” she muttered.

Suddenly she heard a rustling behind them. “Who’s there?” she asked sharply, spinning around. The rustling stopped abruptly. Morrigan flicked her wrist and sent an orb of light floating down the alley, shining gently overhead. Rowena blinked. Instead of the vagrant she was expecting to find, Sten was crouched down in front of them peering at the lock on a small stone door. “Sten?”

The Qunari sighed and went back to working on the door’s lock. “I didn’t think you’d find me.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” Rowena motioned to Morrigan to end her spell, bathing the alley in shadows once more. Eyes adjusting to the dark, Rowena walked forward slowly and crossed her arms. “Sten, what are you doing?”

He looked back up at her. “Is that a trick question?”

Morrigan sighed and leaned against the alley wall. “And so it begins.”

Rowena ignored her and frowned at the Qunari. “Do you have any idea how reckless you’re being?” she said.  “What’s the plan here?”

“You’re not stupid,” Sten said. “You tell me.”

She sighed. “So, what, you’re just going to burst into this shop at random and hope that your sword is there?”

“There’s a sign,” Sten said, pressing his ear against the door. “This is Master Janar’s shop.”

“Oh!” Rowena blinked and stared at him. “You can read Dwarven?”

He stopped what he was doing to give her a long look. “Maybe you’re stupider than you look.”

“Stop laughing at that, Morrigan!” Rowena snapped. The witch snorted and went back to staring in boredom at the opposite wall. “Sten, have you lost your mind? You of all people should know how stupid this is! You think you’ll get your sword back if you’re rotting in some Dwarven prison? What do you think you’re doing?”

“No, what are _you_ doing?” He stood up so abruptly it took Rowena’s breath away. It was easy to forget sometimes how terrifying Sten was, but with him towering over her with his eyes flashing in her face, she quickly remembered. “I said I would help you against the Blight, not in stumbling blind across the country,” he thundered, his voice echoing off the alley walls. “For months I have watched you mill about with no purpose, choosing battles at hazard and winning only by dumb luck. You scoured the corners of Ferelden for a myth, when a wise man would have let the arl die. You released a dangerous mage into the world – and yes, I know it was you – based off of personal affection. And now you have allowed yourselves to be trapped in a city of fools far removed from the Blight. This whole time, I have been silent. Now, however, with my sword within reach and your incompetence growing daily, I can hold my tongue no longer. I am going to find Master Janar, I am going to find Asala, and I am going to leave you all to whatever mistake you’re about to commit next.” 

For a moment, Rowena was at a loss for words. Sten’s gaze was just too intense. Finally, she managed to clear her throat and say, “Well, I…you…you can’t do that!”

“Watch me,” Sten said, bending back down to the door.

“Come, Rowena, let us leave him,” Morrigan said, grabbing her arm. “There is not much else we can do.”

“No, this is ridiculous!” Rowena cried. “Sten, you swore an oath to us!”

“The Beresaad are subject to the Qun, and nothing else – especially not someone else’s idiocy.” He turned back to the lock. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to find my sword.”

Rowena glared at him, trying to think of an angle that would work. “Well, I mean, what do you think’s going to happen?” she asked. “You know the dwarves aren’t going to let you leave, even if you find your sword.”

“I expect he plans to fight his way out with his fancy sword,” Morrigan said drily. “He is a man, after all.”

“Orzammar is in negotiations with the Grey Wardens,” he said calmly, clicking through the lock. “If I’m no longer with the Grey Wardens, there will be nothing keeping me here.” He stood up again and stretched his legs. “And if that doesn’t work…the Beresaad always find a way.”

Rowena scowled. “And if someone catches you in there?”

“No one will catch me in there,” Sten said calmly, opening the door. “The forge is quiet, and I can hear someone snoring. I will sneak into the workshop, take what is mine, and be out before anyone can…”

He stopped suddenly, frozen in the doorsill. Rowena immediately saw why: sitting in front of them in the back room was a small dwarven girl, her jaw wide open.

* * *

 Down in Dust Town, Eruestan felt like he was going to be sick.

Calling it a “town” felt cruel and mocking. In fact, Dust Town hardly looked habitable. It was nothing more than a collection of ruins and hovels crammed into the base of the city, sitting only a few feet above the pool of lava. The scalding hot air mixed with the filth in the quarter to create a sort of toxic stench that made it almost impossible to breathe. Already the muck in the streets had stained the hems of his pants, and the buildings around him all seemed on the verge of collapsing. Shadows filled all the corners of the neighborhood, hiding whatever further horrors lay beyond.

The worse parts of Dust Town, however, were its inhabitants. They slept on the streets in rags as they rolled in filth and shrieked into the night. The dwarves here were emaciated, the tattoos branding their faces distorted by the skin stretched over their bones. He stopped for a moment in front of a man lying face down in the muck in front of him. To his horror, he quickly realized that the man was dead.

“Leave him,” Rica murmured as he bent down to turn him over. “There are plenty others like him.”

“This is terrible,” Eruestan murmured to Leliana as he rose back to his feet, face pale. “I’ve never seen so much misery in my life before.”

“The Elven Alienage in Val Royeaux isn’t much better, trust me,” the bard said grimly. “But I’m concerned about how many people are seeing us. Someone’s bound to tell the cartas we’re coming.”

“We do not need to worry about that,” Rica said. “Follow me. The entrance is down this street.”

Before she could move, someone tugged on Eruestan’s arm. He looked down to see a tiny child staring up at him pleadingly, ribs sticking out through ragged clothes. His heart panged as he noticed the tiny tattoo on the girl’s face. “Maker, please, take whatever you need,” he said frantically, reaching into his pockets. “What do you need? Gold? Food?” The child stared at him blankly until suddenly, someone cuffed her and threw her aside.

“ _Ubirais’ya!_ ” Rica shouted, shaking her fist. The child scurried to the nearest alley, disappearing into the darkness. “Miserable wretches!”

For a moment Eruestan was so angry he could hardly speak. “I was going to help her!”

“And she was going to rob you,” Rica said harshly. “You cannot see it, but there are thirty pairs of eyes on you right now, waiting to see if you have anything to give. Had you shown a single sign of affluence or generosity, a whole horde would have descended on you. Believe me – I used to be one of them.”

Something rustled in the shadows in front of them; Eruestan suddenly felt very uneasy. “Let’s…just move on,” he said shakily. “This place is heartbreaking.”

“How did you ever pull yourself out of here, Rica?” Wynne asked in wonder. “I’ve never seen such abject poverty.”

The dwarf glanced over at her and smiled shyly. “I was fortunate enough to get a sponsor for my education,” she said. “I was fed well, given clean clothes, taught history, Fereldan, Orlesian, dancing, music, anything that could help me catch the eye of a nobleman. At that point, whoever paid the highest would have a right to me.”

 Alistair frowned. “Things like that shouldn’t have to happen.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps not – but many terrible things happen in Dust Town, and this was better than any of my alternatives. My sponsor did well by me, and protected my family, too.”

“And who was this sponsor?” Zevran asked. “Some nobleman looking to exploit the poor?”

“Not quite,” Rica said. “It was Beraht, the former leader of this carta.”

“Oh!” Eruestan said, surprised. “Your sponsor imprisoned your sister?”

“Not quite,” Rica said, leading them around a corner. “Natia killed him first.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Eruestan muttered to Alistair.

The knight didn’t smile back. “This is sickening. People should be doing something about this – these poor people…”

“A good king would do something,” Wynne said. “A society is only as strong as its poorest citizens.”

“But who would be the good king?” Alistair murmured, almost to himself. Eruestan glanced at him and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

Rica had led them into an alley squeezed between two ancient abandoned palaces. A woman was huddled on a stoop in front of them, swaying back and forth and muttering to herself. “The entrance to the carta is down this alley,” she said, hurrying past the beggar. “They will already know you are coming – we will have to move quickly.”

“How can we fight against them if they know we’re here?” Leliana hissed. “We could be ambushed right here!”

Rica shook her head. “After all those years working with the cartas, I know how they work. They know they would not stand a chance against properly trained warriors, so they disappear into the tunnels at the back of their base at the first sign of trouble. By now the base should be empty, and the path to Natia should be clear.”

Alistair frowned at her. “Why didn’t you tell us that before, Rica? I’ve been stressed for the past ten minutes for nothing!”

The dwarf shook her head. “If I had told you the whole plan, someone might have heard us, and they would have considered resisting us. This way is simpler, even if more duplicitous.”

There was no time to bemoan the deceptiveness of Dwarven society any further. Eruestan merely shook his head and followed Rica down the alley, wary of any ambushes lurking in the shadows. The dwarf led them to a small door at the side of a small, ruined house. “This is it,” she murmured, pushing the door open. Eruestan felt a thrill of dread as she entered the building, half expecting to walk into a room full of angry gang members. To his surprise, however, she walked into a small, empty sitting room.

“Our carta seems to operate on a much smaller scale than I was anticipating,” Zevran said. “Not to mention that they have terrible taste in furniture.”

“They do,” Leliana agreed. “But something tells me that this is either a fairly clever front or a fairly stupid trap.”

Rica smiled softly. “No need to worry, Your Excellency.” Walking over to the far wall, she ran her hands along the stone and, finding the right spot, pressed hard, pushing open the wall and revealing a large passageway that twisted away into darkness.

“Cool,” Alistair breathed.

Rica smiled, but stood in the entrance, eyebrows furrowed. “Just one moment…I need to figure out where we are going…”

They watched her for a moment as she scrunched her face in concentration, pressing one hand to the floor. “What’s happening?” Alistair whispered.

“Sh!” Rica said. “I am trying to listen to the Stone!”

This took a moment for everyone to process. “Has she lost her mind?” Alistair asked.

Wynne shook her head. “No, I think she must be talking about her Stone sense – is that right, Rica?” The dwarf nodded, her eyes still closed in concentration.

“Stone sense?” Leliana asked, turning back to Wynne.

“I don’t know much about it myself,” Wynne admitted. “Like all the other races, the dwarves are very secretive with their knowledge – some people even think Stone sense is just a myth. In essence, though, most dwarves are able to see through stone, in a way – it was what enabled them to build and traverse the Deep Roads.”

“And it is what will help us find the prison from here,” Rica said, shaking her head. “There is a tunnel that curves off from the main passage – if we follow it, Natia should be at the end.”

They followed her into the passage, backs hunched as they made their way through the short tunnel. The stone was cool around them. After the heat of Dust Town, Eruestan was glad for the reprieve. So far it seemed Rica had been right: the tunnels were empty.

She stopped in front of another passage and looked back in excitement. “This way!” she said, running down it. “We’re getting close!”

The second tunnel was smaller and older, much harder for them to pass through. The air reeked again, the stench so heavy Eruestan could hardly breathe. Soon, they could see a light flickering down at the end. They turned around the corner to find themselves in a large, circular room lined with cells. Most were empty. The last one, however, held a young Dwarven woman, her arms hung above her as she dangled from chains attached to the wall.

“Natia!” Rica cried, running up to her. Eruestan followed quickly, taking in the dwarf’s injuries in shock. Natia was emaciated, her ribs showing through the tears in her rags. Bruises, burns, and cuts lined her body; she had obviously been tortured.

“Natia!” Rica shouted, shaking the cage door. “Natia! Can you hear me? _Slushaesh’?_ Please, someone, open these locks!”

Leliana ran forward as Natia began to stir. “Rica?” she groaned, too weak to raise her head. “About damn time you showed up.”

“ _Oy, Natya, prasti menya,_ I wanted to come sooner,” Rica said as Leliana opened the door. “It took me too long to get everything organized…but who did this to you?”

The corners of her sister’s mouth began to twitch, as if she was trying to smile. “That bitch Jarvia – she always did hate that I’m prettier than her. Or, at least, I _was_ prettier than her.” As Zevran and Leliana finished working on her chains, she collapsed into her sister’s arms. Sighing deeply, she lifted her head feebly and glanced at Rica’s companions. “Topsiders, huh?” she asked. “Did you have to sleep with them, too?”

“If only, if only…”

“They are _Grey Wardens,_ Natia, and no, I did not sleep with any of them,” Rica said, glaring at Zevran. “Forgive my sister her crude humor, Your Excellencies.”

“Grey Wardens?” She scoffed. “If you’re looking for the horde, Wardens, you’re in the wrong place. Not even darkspawn will come to Dust Town.”

“We’ll have to keep looking somewhere else, then,” Eruestan said. “Wynne, do you think we could heal her?”

The enchanter shook her head. “For magic to work on a dwarf, we’d need more lyrium than the cartas could get topside in a month.”

“It is all right, we can find someone to heal her in the city,” Rica said. “All we need to do now is get out of here before they all come back—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are we too early?” someone asked behind them. “We can come back later if you want us to.”

Eruestan turned around. A square-jawed woman was standing at the prison entrance surrounded by a squadron of armed carta members.

Natia looked up and sighed. “Jarvia. Fucking bitch.”

“Ah, there’s that Brosca wit.” Jarvia crossed the threshold, gently slapping the head of a mace into her palm. “You know, it’s that kind of charm that got us interested in your family in the first place. A pity, then, that we’ve heard so little from you since you’ve left us, Rica.”

“What do you want, Jarvia?” Rica asked, cradling her sister’s head. “I thought you would be in a hole three miles under the city by now.”

“Why, because you thought we’d be afraid of your prince coming to kill us?” She laughed, her men following suit. “Don’t flatter yourselves. We know a nobleman would never send an army down here to wipe out the carta. We’d be gone the instant he crossed through Dust Town, and they’d be left holding their dicks in their hands. This is different, though. Ever since we threw your whore of a sister in this prison, we’ve been waiting for you to come down here and rescue her. And here you are!” Jarvia smiled, revealing a mouth full of blackened teeth. “You fell into our trap, and now we’re here to make sure you pay us everything you owe.”

“King Bhelen paid you back in full, and you know it,” Rica said. “My debts are forgiven.”

Jarvia shook her head. “Oh, Rica, you dumb, stupid little _suka_. Girls like you aren’t supposed to snag _princes_. A besotted merchant, maybe, or a minor noble’s idiot son, but never a future king. Once you aim that high, your debts are never paid.”

“You’re forgetting something here, Jarvia,” Eruestan said, stepping forward. “Rica and Natia have the Grey Wardens’ protection.”

Jarvia smiled at her. “Oh, believe me, Warden, I haven’t forgotten you in the least. An elf as pretty as you will fetch a hefty sum in the slave markets of Minrathous – the rest of your friends, too, once we beat that insolence out of you.”

“Sell the elves to the Tevinters?” Zevran muttered. “Original.”

The idea did make Eruestan’s stomach clench. Still, he refused to break eye contact with the carta leader. “No one’s getting sold to anyone, Zevran. She doesn’t know what she’s dealing with.”

Jarvia smiled and stepped back among her men. “I was worried you would want to fight. Go ahead Wardens, test your luck. For every man you kill, I have two to replace them – you’ll be worn out before you even taste a tenth of my armies.”

Eruestan flexed his hands in a rush of fear, summoning flames that he knew would be useless against an army of dwarves. Everyone else in the room drew their weapons as well, shooting icy glares at each other as they waited for one side to attack. Then, out of nowhere, the sounds of marching feet grew louder in the background.

Jarvia turned around and frowned. “What in the Stone is going on out there?”

Someone was running toward them. A moment later, a man burst into the room. “Jarvia, we have to run!” he yelled. “Everyone’s getting out, the City Guard is—”

A spear jutted through his chest. Seconds later, the room was full of guards, thrusting their spears into the members of the carta. Jarvia fell in an instant, her blood splattering onto the floor. Before Eruestan could react, the guards had them surrounded, spears pointed at their chests.

“S-stop this at once!” Rica said, voice faltering. “I represent the king…”

The room fell silent as someone in the back started clapped. “There you are, my sweet,” Prince Bhelen said, shaking his head. “I’m so glad we found you – I’m absolutely outraged that this happened.”

“What’s going on, Your Highness?” Eruestan snapped, stepping back from the blood pooling beneath his feet.

“What does it look like?” the prince smirked. “The Wardens and the Carta, working together on a kidnapping case? Sounds like treason to me.”

* * *

 Meanwhile, Rowena, Morrigan, and Sten were all staring slack-jawed at the girl in front of them.

Sten was the first to regain his senses. “Kill it.”

“Right, because murdering a kid will make us _so_ popular with the city,” Rowena hissed. “She probably has no idea who we are, let’s just leave.”

“I know who you are,” the girl said quickly. “You’re the Grey Wardens.”

“Oh.” Rowena sighed. “Shite.”

“No more wasting time,” Sten snarled. “Plunge a knife in her heart and let’s find my sword.”

“Actually, if you cut my jugular, it’ll be a lot easier for you and less painful for me,” the girl said. Sten and Rowena stared at her. “Sorry,” she said, blushing. “I’ve just read a lot about anatomy. And knives. A lot about everything, really.”

Morrigan sighed. “And she’s talkative, too. Lovely.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” the girl said. “I’m Dagna, by the way – Master Janar’s daughter. Papa doesn’t like it when I’m up this late, though, and if I tell anyone I saw you, I’ll get in as much trouble as you will.”

Rowena smiled at her. “Somehow I doubt that.”

She shrugged. “Hey, everything’s relative.”

“If we aren’t going to silence the girl, let’s just find my sword and leave,” Sten said. “I have little patience for this.”

“That was _your_ sword?” Dagna was on him in an instant. “Oh, I have so many questions for you! Did you make it yourself? Are you able to carry it? How fast can you swing it? Did you need magic to use it?”

Morrigan glanced over at Rowena. “Something tells me Eruestan was this annoying as a child, too.”

Rowena snorted and then turned back to the girl. “Dagna, can you promise to keep this a secret?”

“Can you do magic?”

The question took her aback. “Uh…no, no, I can’t.” Seeing the look on the girl’s face, Rowena quickly dragged Morrigan in front of her. “She can, though! She’s really good!”

That was all it took. “By the Stone, you have to tell me _everything_! What does it feel like to cast? How long have you studied? Can you turn that table into a nug? Does it hurt? Have you ever met a demon? Are you a demon?”

“Let go of me, Rowena, before I kill both you and this child,” Morrigan snarled through gritted teeth.

“This is ridiculous,” Sten snapped. “Is my sword here or not?”

“Oh, it left here months ago,” Dagna said, shrugging.

“ _What_?”

“What?” Dagna asked. “The man that was selling it was asking way too much – Papa was only able to rent it for a night to take sketches.”

“Well, where did she go?” Sten spluttered, his eyes wide. “Did he say?”

She shrugged. “Denerim, I think. He thought he might have a buyer there – some weapons merchant who pays well.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what all the fuss was about – it wasn’t even properly made. Way too heavy, something only a Topsider would want to use.”

Sten was getting more animated that Rowena had ever seen him. “You – you have no idea! That sword – Asala is the height of Qunari engineering!”

“Calm down, Sten,” Rowena said. “Dagna, do you know where this man was going to sell the sword? The merchant’s name, maybe?”

She frowned. “Something strange…Wayne? Wade? I’m not sure. I think he’s a pretty famous merchant in the Denerim market.”

Sten stared at her for a moment, and then, to everyone’s surprise, collapsed to the floor. “I’m a disgrace,” he said dully. “I betrayed everyone to chase hearsay and rumor, all for nothing.” He glanced up at Rowena. “At least when you acted like idiots, you turned out to be right in the end.”

“Thanks for that, Sten,” Rowena sighed. She looked down at the Qunari and bit her lip. Despite everything he had said and done, he just looked too crushed to still be angry at him. “Look, Sten, it’s all right,” she said, crouching down next to him. “We should have let you come here from the beginning.”

He shook his head. “I should have never disobeyed you.”

“You did what you thought was right for you,” Rowena said, even though she only half-believed it. “You made a lot of good points, Sten – Eruestan and I have made a lot of decisions that even we’re not fully comfortable with, and we’ve neglected a lot of people’s needs in the process. We have to recognize that.”

The Qunari stared at him. “So you’re not going to kick me out?”

Rowena blinked. “No, Sten, of course not.”

He shook his head in wonder. “I have lost my honor once before, Rowena. Tonight I almost lost it again. I assure you, it will never happen again.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sten. Now come on, we need to get moving…”

“Not so fast, Warden,” Dagna said quickly. They turned around to stare at her; she blushed slightly. “Sorry…it’s just, I’ve never met a mage before, or anyone who knows a mage, and I’ve been really interested in magic for so long, and…well, I was just wondering…would I be able to study at the Circle in Ferelden?”

“What’s left of it,” Morrigan muttered.

For a second, she didn’t know how to respond. “Er…Dagna, I’m sorry, but I don’t think dwarves can ever do magic.”

“Oh, please, I’m not an idiot,” Dagna said. Rowena blinked at her bluntness. “I’m not trying to do magic – I just want to study it. I’ve read every book Orzammar has on it, but that’d be nothing on what I could find at a Circle – would you be able to help me?

Rowena bit her lip. There was something about Dagna she liked. As much as the girl resembled a young Eruestan, Rowena felt she could see a bit of herself as a child in Dagna as well. “I don’t know, Dagna,” she said finally. “I don’t know much about how the Circle works. But I have friends that would. If you can, come to the Diamond Quarter tomorrow. You can talk with them later.”

“That’d be great!” Dagna beamed at him. “But you should go – if anyone catches you, we’ll never be able to talk.”

“And the Blight would swallow all of the world,” Morrigan said, frowning.

She shrugged again. “Whatever. Just don’t get arrested. It was nice meeting you!” With that, she returned to her book by the fire, not bothering to watch them as they left.

The three companions turned around to leave the store. “If anything, I’ve learned one thing from tonight,” Sten said, opening the door. “If Asala’s waiting for me in Denerim, I will have to wait until the Landsmeet to be reunited with her.”

“Provided we even make it to the Landsmeet,” Rowena sighed, stepping out into the alley. “Let’s just get back to the mansion and hope that everyone returns as fast as—do you hear something?”

In the quiet of the empty city, there was a clamor rising, the sound of one hundred suits of armor marching. “There’s trouble,” Sten said, furrowing his brow. “We need to get back right now.”

They raced through the streets of the quarter, Sten leading the way through the alleys. All of a sudden they stopped on a bridge looking over the city. “What are we doing?” Rowena asked. “Where are we?”

“Look,” Sten said grimly.

Rowena followed his gaze and paled. Far down below, Eruestan and the others were being pushed along the Aeducan Prospect at spearpoint, hands tied behind their backs.

 


	35. The Sober Mind and the Drunk Tongue

“So basically what you’re saying is that we’re even more arrested than we were before?”

Eruestan sighed. “No, _we’re_ more arrested, because we were the ones who got caught. You’re fine – for now.” He shrugged helplessly. “Look, Bhelen played us, ok? He set us up with the cartas and he was able to trap us with the whole damn Orzammar guard. It’s really not that complicated.”

Rowena scowled and rubbed her forehead. The visiting area of the Orzammar prison was nothing but a small room overlooking one giant cell, and she really wished she had a bench. She, Sten, and Morrigan had spent most of the night before avoiding the City Guard to make it back to their mansion. The rest of their time had been spent convincing Dwarven officials that they had only been taking a late night walk through the Diamond Quarter, and that they had had no idea what the others were up to. Miraculously, they had managed to keep themselves out of prison. The same didn’t apply to their companions. “I still don’t understand,” she said, yawning. “Why would Bhelen do this? Why not just arrest us the minute we stepped out of the Diamond Quarter?”

“It’s very clever on His Highness’s part, actually,” Rolfdir said. The dwarf had escorted them to the prison that morning, accompanied by a guard detail of about twenty soldiers. It might have just been Rowena’s imagination, but she had the distinct impression that Rolfdir was getting a little tired of being burdened with their party. “If you were just caught breaking house arrest with his mistress, it would have reflected poorly on him. This way, though, you’ve both rescued her sister, making her happy, and given him a way to tell the city that he found the Wardens dealing with the cartas, making him happy. Not only does he get rid of potentially dangerous political dignitaries, but he can also use this to garner much more support in the Assembly.”

“He’ll need more than support to get away from us,” Rowena growled. Cormac barked at her side in emphasis. “Once I’m through with him, House Aeducan will just be a footnote in Orzammar’s history.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Rolfdir said coldly. “Now the whole city is against you – I heard there was a mob just outside this morning clamoring for your heads.”

“We know,” Alistair said dully, throwing a rock to the other side of the cell. “We were here.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing you’re famous, though,” the dwarf said. “ Lord Harrowmont himself came down here to break the mobs up. Said we didn’t want Grey Warden blood spilled on our Stone.”

“We know,” Alistair repeated. “We were here.”

“Keep your damn voices down,” someone snarled suddenly from the back. “It feels like I have a damn bronto rutting on my head.”

 “Is someone else in there?” Rowena asked. She stood up and tried to look further into the darkness, unable to see anything but shadows.

“Physically, not mentally,” Leliana said in disgust. “He’s managed to stay drunk for the past eleven hours.”

Rolfdir frowned. “My apologies, Your Excellencies, I didn’t realize Oghren would be in your cell.”

“He has a name?” Alistair said in surprise. “Huh. I’ve just been calling him ‘Stinky McDrunkard.’”

Rolfdir huffed. “You and the rest of the city, I assure you.”

Eruestan frowned. “Oghren…why do I recognize that name, Rolfdir?”

The voice belched. “Because I’m a friggin’ legend, you twinkler,” whoever it was said, shuffling forward. Rowena started when she saw that it belonged to the drunk dwarf from outside of Tapsters.

“A legendary failure, Boyar Oghren,” Rolfdir corrected. The dwarf shrugged and started peeing in a corner. “Believe it or not, the boyar was once the darling of the Warrior Caste,” Rolfdir said. “He had a sterling reputation in the Proving Arena, he was a renowned warrior, and, most importantly, he was married to Paragon Branka.”

Eruestan gasped. “The woman who led the expedition into the Deep Roads?”

Rolfdir nodded. “Exactly. As you see, though, Paragon Branka left him here, showing the whole city who he really is: a drunk, crude fool who isn’t worth the cost of keeping him in a cell.”

“Ha! You think that’s bad? I’ve heard worse from my mother,” Oghren said, pulling up his pants. “Speaking of her – Firecrotch, how’s about you grab Yellow Eyes, Big Tits, and Firecrotch Number Two and we can go have a party in the back of this cell?”

Rowena stared at him in horror. “Why, _why_ would your mother remind you of _that_?”

“And, I’m sorry, but _Firecrotch Number Two_?” Leliana said, sitting up sharply. “All I get is _Firecrotch Number Two_?”

“Something tells me he’s not going for eloquence, Leliana,” Wynne said wearily. “And at least you’re not ‘Big Tits’.”

“And at least you got invited!” Zevran said, frowning. “I am just as pretty as any of them, my revolting, cheese-smelling friend.”

Oghren looked confused. “But…you don’t have tits?”

“This is what I am reduced to,” Zevran sighed, slumping against the cell wall.

Leliana wasn’t finished. “ _Firecrotch Number Two?_ I have seduced some of the most powerful people in Thedas! I can do a little better than _Firecrotch Number Two_!”

“Everyone, come on!” Rowena said. Everyone started and glanced over at her, embarrassed. “I still don’t know what this means for us. Rolfdir, what can we do to get them out of here?”

The dwarf shrugged. “I’m sorry, Your Excellencies, but this is very, very serious. Acting against the good of Orzammar is a crime punishable by death. You all could very well be thrown into the lava pit or condemned to the Deep Roads.”

Alistair frowned. “The Deep Roads?”

Rowena rolled her eyes. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“No, that sounds really concerning,” Eruestan said, eyes wide. “When could the Assembly make that decision by?”

“It wouldn’t be the Assembly,” Rolfdir said, shaking his head. “This would be the in the next king’s jurisdiction. Judgment will wait until after the Assembly’s decision for the throne.”

“Oh,” Alistair said. “So never, then.”

“But Rolfdir, who would possibly believe that we could have any dealings with the cartas?” Rowena asked. “Anyone can see that we were set up.”

“Unfortunately, that means very little to the Assembly,” Rolfdir said. “What matters is that you were caught.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” she said.

Rolfdir shrugged. “That’s Orzammar. In any case, I’m afraid you’re stuck here now.”

“There must be someone we can talk to,” Eruestan said, leaning against the bars of the cell. “We could petition the nobility…”

Rolfdir shook his head. “No one would have you. Receiving traitors to the Dwarva would be enough to ruin the reputation of any family in Orzammar.”

“But we’re Grey Wardens!” Eruestan protested.

Rolfdir shrugged. “Those are the rules. Lady Rowena could, of course, petition to have her name individually cleared by the Committee on Social Ostracism...”

Rowena pinched her nose. “Let me guess – I have to wait for the new king to be chosen to be able to meet them.”

Rolfdir nodded. “I won’t lie to you, that may take longer than I originally said. Now that word’s spread about what happened last night, the lower castes are rallying around Bhelen. As a result, the nobility and the warriors are declaring themselves for Harrowmont. We’ll be tearing ourselves apart before long.”

“Good riddance,” Sten muttered.

“Well, I can at least give the nobles a try,” Rowena said. “If they’re as against Bhelen as you say they are, they might be willing to overlook protocol to ally against him.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Rolfdir said. “Though you can try if you wish.”

“So that’s the plan, then?” Eruestan asked, turning back to her. “Throwing ourselves at the feet of nobles?”

“Unless you all want to fight our way out of the Deep Roads.” She hesitated. “Well, on second thought...”

“Let’s not joke about that, ok?” Alistair snapped suddenly, jerking his head up. Surprised, she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just make sure anything you agree upon gets signed,” Wynne said. The enchanter looked exhausted, even more so than everyone else. “We can’t afford to lose any more time to backdoor politics.”

“I will, Wynne.” Rowena paused, noticing how pale the mage’s skin was. “Do you want me to bring you anything back?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“A little ale wouldn’t kill me,” Oghren called from the back.

“I’m not sure about that,” Eruestan muttered. “And be careful, Rowena – we need you to stay out of here.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, turning to leave. “I’m going to find us some friends, you’ll see.”

Four hours later she was shuffling back to the mansion in defeat. “I can’t believe it,” she said over the sound of their accompanying guard. “We tried 47 families, and almost all of them turned us away.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Rolfdir said, shrugging. “Though I am surprised Lady Dace gave you an audience.”

Morrigan scoffed as they passed into the foyer. “She only did it because she thought we were trying to peddle Rowena’s mutt to her.”

“Which might be useful at some point, we are running out of money.” Cormac whined at her side. “Oh, I’m only joking, Cormy, there’s no need to make that face.” They entered the house with Rolfdir, leaving their detail of guards behind them. As they walked into the foyer, a servant ran up to them. “Yes?”

“You have visitors, Your Excellencies,” the dwarf said, bowing. He hesitated. “There’s one that I tried to have kicked out, but she proved…resistant…”

Rowena frowned and looked back at the others. “This can’t be good.”

The servant led them into the parlor, where Rowena found the last people she was expecting. Waiting for her in opposite corners of the room were Dagna, Lanca, and a young Casteless woman she didn’t recognize.

Rolfdir immediately went stiff. “Your Excellencies, my presence is not appropriate. There is an offensive creature here.”

“Like I care what a perfumed pretty boy like you thinks of me,” the Casteless woman snapped. “I don’t even know what I’m still doing here…”

“Yes, I was wondering the same thing,” Lanca said, holding a handkerchief to her face. “Why don’t you go pollute the air somewhere else – the Deep Roads, perhaps?”

“You didn’t seem so offended when you were schmoozing up to my sister this morning at the palace,” the woman shot back.

Lanca smirked. “Trust me, when _you_ start sleeping with the future king, I’ll be much nicer.”

Rowena frowned as she realized who the woman was. “You’re Natia Brosca.”

“And you’re just some Topsider firecrotch,” she said, straightening her back. “What do you care?”

Rowena turned to Sten and Morrigan. “Why is everyone calling me a ‘firecrotch’ all of a sudden?”

Sten grunted. “Small minds rely on visual cues for inspiration.”

“Your Excellencies, I really must leave the room,” Rolfdir said. “Any longer and my honor will be besmirched.”

Natia shook her head. “This is unbelievable – I’m out of here…”

“No, don’t leave,” Rowena said quickly. She wanted a word with her, and she doubted she would get another chance. “Rolfdir, please be kind to our guests.”

The dwarf looked affronted. “But, Your Excellency, she’s… _Casteless_ …”

“Yeah, no shit!”

“Everyone, please!” Rowena said. “That’s enough, Rolfdir – you can go into the dining room if you’d be more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” he said stiffly. “Young ladies, would you care to join me?”

“I’ve been here long enough already,” Lanca said coolly. “I think my reputation can handle a few more minutes.”

Dagna shook her head vigorously, eyes wide. “Are you kidding me? I’ve never met a Casteless before! I have so many questions!”

The young woman leapt to her feet. “That’s it!”

“No, please, let’s just all calm down!” Rowena said as Rolfdir left the room. Natia hesitated at the door. “Please, just have a seat. We can get this all sorted out.” The young dwarf nodded slowly with a frown and took a seat. Rowena, Morrigan, and Sten all sat on the couch facing them. The room was silent for a moment. Then, Rowena cleared her throat and started talking. “I’ll admit that I wasn’t exactly expecting to see the three of you in here today…”

“Well, I’m not planning on staying too long,” Lanca said. “I’ve only come to tell you that I can no longer be seen with Zevran.”

“Oh!” It was so out of left field that Rowena almost laughed. “Why…why is that?”

She raised an eyebrow. “There’s a bit of gentility in house arrest – none in prison, though. I don’t do charity cases.”

“You seem really beat up about this,” Rowena said drily. “What happened to ‘Zevvie’?”

Lanca rolled her eyes. “Please – men love hearing things like that, it makes them think you’re losing your mind for them. In the end, though, he’s just a pretty face with a hot accent – fun, but not worth ruining myself for. Just give him the message for me – I am _not_ going down to the prison on my own. And speaking of which…” She glanced over at Natia and sniffed. “The air’s growing foul here. I’ll take my leave of you, Your Excellencies.”

Rowena shook her head as she left. “I don’t want to be the one to tell Zevran.”

“I doubt he shall care,” Morrigan murmured. “As for Eruestan…he’ll look like my mother finding a Templar lost in the Wilds.”

Rowena snorted. “Maker, I can’t wait.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I didn’t come here to be shat upon by half the arseholes in the Diamond Quarter just to hear you banter back and forth to each other!” Natia snapped.

“So why did you come?” Morrigan asked coolly. “Hoping to catch us in another trap?”

“It wasn’t a trap,” Natia said hotly. “Rica had no idea the prince was going behind her back.”

“That seems awfully convenient,” Rowena said, crossing her arms.

“Just shut up and listen!” Natia was clearly getting worked up. Her eyes wild, she jumped from the couch and began pacing the room. “My sister is mortified at what happened, and right now she’s terrified about what you’re going to do. And look, I get it, ok? You’re pissed, but Rica was only trying to help me, you understand that? Dust Town may be filled with trash, and this whole city may be going balls up, but Rica is not a backstabber, ok?”

“What does this matter, Natia?” Rowena asked.

She glared at her. “It matters because I need to fucking know if you’re going to pull some shit when all this settles! My sister and I have each other’s fucking backs, ok, and if you shit-faced dumbass fuckers are going to fuck with her or her baby, I need to fucking know, ok?”

Dagna looked breathless. “Whoa…I’ve never heard so many swears in one sentence before.”

Rowena wasn’t sure if she had, either. “Natia, please, there’s no need for this,” she said, feeling a little breathless herself. “We’re not interested in revenge.”

“Oh!” She stared at her for a moment, and then sat down again. “Really?”

“Really,” she sighed. “Even if we wanted to, we’re not in any position to do anything. Half of us are locked up, and I don’t see that ending any time soon.”

“No thanks to your sister, incidentally,” Morrigan said.

“I don’t trust that one,” Natia said, eyes narrowed.

“Not many people do,” Rowena replied. “But you have my word, Natia – you don’t have to worry about us.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Warden,” she said, scowling. She nestled back in her chair. “Now can I get something to eat?”

Rowena smirked and nodded at one of the servants, who left for the kitchens. “So, Dagna, I take it you’re not here asking for protection for your family.”

“I’m here for magic,” she said, still staring at Natia. “You told me to come up here so you could send me to the Circle.”

“Right…” She hesitated. “To be honest, I was originally expecting Eruestan and Wynne to be here this morning. They’re good friends with the First Enchanter – I’m sure they could get you in.”

“Oh, _zdorava_!” she said, finally turning to her. “That’s amazing! Should I write a letter to this First Enchanter? Will I need money? When can I go?”

She smiled ruefully at her. “There’s a problem. While we’re trapped here, I can’t get any word out.”

“Oh! That’s dumb,” she said, frowning.

“That’s Orzammar,” Natia muttered, grabbing grapes off the tray the servant had brought back.

“Well, what’s keeping you here?” Dagna persisted, sitting forward. “Why can’t you just get out?”

“We have to wait for the new king to be chosen,” she said. “Until that happens, our friends can’t be tried, and no one will meet with us to discuss the terms of our treaty.”

“Not much you can do there,” Natia said, chucking back a mouthful of grapes. “Nobles love sitting around with their dicks in their hands. Unless you’ve got a hidden ace somewhere, you’re S.O.L., buddies.”

Rowena frowned. “S.O.L.?”

“Shit out of luck.” She swallowed another handful of grapes. “Man, these are fantastic! Do all you Topsiders eat like this?”

“We try a little harder not to choke on them,” Rowena said. “And we must be S.O.L., then, because I have no idea what else to do.”

“You should go to the Shaperate!” Dagna said suddenly.

Rowena stared at her for a moment. “The what?”

“The Shaperate!” She looked excited. “It has all the knowledge in Orzammar – history, science, everything! It’s where I always go when I need to learn something!”

Rowena felt her stomach drop. “You mean…it’s a library?”

She nodded. “Pretty much!”

“ _Nooo_ ,” Rowena whispered to herself.

“And this library – it’ll have a book on how to pick a king?” Sten asked, eyebrow raised.

She shook her head. “But you’ll be able to see how every other king was chosen! And ask whatever questions you need!”

“Will they even let us inside?” Morrigan asked. “‘Tis difficult to tell when we are welcome and when we are not.”

“Good point, Morrigan,” Rowena said quickly. “I’d hate to go all that way just to be deni—”

“You should be fine,” Dagna said. Rowena’s hopes plummeted. “The Shaperate is supposed to be open to anyone seeking knowledge – though, I’m not sure if the Casteless are allowed…” She glanced over at Natia. “Sorry!”

“Yeah, I’m real torn up about it,” Natia said, throwing another grape into her mouth.

“But it sounds like a good option for us,” Morrigan said.

Rowena sighed, conceding defeat. “It does, you’re right.” She rose reluctantly to her feet. “Let’s head there now. Thank you, Dagna – I’ll let you know if we find something.”

“You’re not going to find anything,” Rolfdir sniffed half an hour later as they made their way to the top of the Diamond Quarter. “I would have recommended the Shaperate weeks ago if I’d thought they’d be any help. They’ve been backlogged for the past two hundred years, most of it just useless trade deals and birth records, and there’s no organization whatsoever.”

 “Fitting that it’s in Orzammar, then,” Sten said. The guard marching behind him stepped too close to his foot, making the Qunari turn around and glare at him. The entire patrol backed up a few feet.

“All libraries are like that, Sten, not just the ones in Orzammar,” Rowena said, walking forward. To be honest, it did feel good to be doing something, even if it meant going to the library. She was tired of sitting around, tired of never having enough information. “And Rolfdir, please, just take us there. It’s not like we don’t have a ton of time to waste.”

The dwarf shrugged. “Whatever you say.” They were stopped in front of a simple door carved out of the stone near the royal palace. Unlike the other buildings in the Diamond Quarter, the Shaperate had no façade, making it impossible to tell its size. “This is it?” Rowena asked, staring at the door. There was no one else around but them.

Rolfdir nodded. “It’s one of the oldest buildings in the Diamond Quarter. Don’t worry, it’s nicer on the inside.”

He was right. As they crossed the entrance, they found themselves in a dimly-lit chamber with high ceilings, the clamor of their guards’ armor echoing off the walls. Every surface – the walls, the floors, and the pillars – was covered in irregular bouts of  faintly-glowing dwarven runes.

“This is the original Hall of the Shaperate,” Rolfdir murmured. “These are the first recorded memories in our history – the births of kings and queens, battles won and lost, all outlined in lyrium so as to never be forgotten. But these aren’t much use to anyone, I’m afraid. The real knowledge is in the reading rooms beyond, but you need a Shaper to get to those – ah, look. One seems to be approaching now…”

Rowena followed his gaze to see the oldest woman she’d ever met storming across the hall towards them. “Out!” she croaked, shaking her fist. “Get out of the Shaperate!”

“Shaper Magda, the head of the Shaperate,” Rolfdir murmured quickly. “It looks like she’s in a good mood today.”

Rowena smiled and bowed her head to the dwarf, pulling out her best manners. “Lady Shaper, forgive us if we’re intruding, but we really must—”

“I’m not talking to you, Warden,” she barked. “I mean these louts you’ve brought with you! I’ll not have Assembly mooks goose-stepping through the Shaperate!”

“We’re here by order of the Assembly, Lady Shaper,” one of the guards said, placing her hand on her sword. “If you have any complaints about our presence, you should take them up with them.”

“Ha!” The old woman’s voice sounded like rocks crashing together. “Go to the Assembly? They wouldn’t even recognize me! I haven’t seen a noble in these halls for years, unless they’re trying to get their little back-door deals verified.” Magda was tiny, but the look she was giving the guards sent a chill down Rowena’s spine. “And get your hand off that sword, girl! I could have your precious Assembly throw you in the Deep Roads faster than you could draw it!”

“That won’t be necessary,” Rowena said, secretly glad to be rid of the guards. “Please, everyone, just wait for us outside. Hopefully we won’t be long.”

The chief guard glared at Shaper Magda. “By the Stone, you better not be.”

“I’m shaking in my shoes,” the Shaper said coldly as the guards filed out of the room. “Really, Warden, you shouldn’t let these thugs lead you around on a chain. I doubt she could even spell her own name.”

“It’s not her we’re worried about,” Rowena said. “Until the succession is settled, we’re completely at the mercy of the Assembly.”

“Idiots in fancy clothing,” Magda snorted. “I pity your situation, Warden, but I fail to see why you’ve come here.”

Rowena smiled half-heartedly. “I was told this was the place to look for answers, if there were any to be found.”

She smiled wryly. “We’ll see about that – but follow me. We may have something you can use.”

She led them to the back of the lobby and through a dark tunnel. The further they walked, Rowena suddenly became aware of a light buzzing in the back of her head. “Is there something wrong with the air here?” she asked, rubbing her forehead.

Morrigan laughed softly. “‘Tis the lyrium, I expect – I doubt you’ve ever been exposed to so much before.”

“Is that possible, Shaper?” Rowena asked. “Is there even that much lyrium here?”

Magda smirked and led them around a corner. Rowena stopped and stared at the room she was entering. It was hundreds of feet tall and glowed with lyrium runes, all pulsing gently. Her heart rate picked up slightly. “Is this safe?”

“For us, of course,” Magda said. “For humans…well, at least you’re not elves. I’d hate to have to clean up for any nosebleeds.”

She nodded and stepped further into the room. The runes were tiny and stopped about halfway up the chamber. A stone walkway snaked along the walls, supporting other members of the Shaperate who were busy retouching runes or putting in new ones. “This is the Hall of History,” Magda said, stepping onto the walkway. “Every major event in our history has been recorded on these walls.”

“What happens when you run out of room?” Sten asked, clearly unimpressed.

“I’ll be dead by then, so I don’t worry about it.” She hobbled up the floors, hands trailing along the runes. “There have been four elections for the succession in our history. The first is written here.” She stopped and translated. “ _And in the 14 th and final year of King Nikolai’s reign, His Majesty choked to death on the rib of a nug and plunged Orzammar into chaos. Having no children, the succession was left to the Assembly, who, after six months of debate, voted to let the Ancestors decide and had the candidates fight for the throne. Queen Valda II of House Holinor was declared the victor._”

“That might work,” Rowena said.

Magda shook her head. “Neither Harrowmont not Bhelen would dream of entering the Arena, and that type of fight wouldn’t allow for champions – next!” She hobbled forward, stopping at the other side of the chamber. “Here! _In the 29 th and final year of Queen Ingrid’s reign, Her Majesty tripped on the Provings Bridge and was incinerated in the sea of lava. As her only children were triplets of uncertain birth order, the succession was left to the Assembly, who, after four years of negotiation and bloodshed, named King Ragnar the victor after the deaths of both his brothers._”

Rowena frowned. The lyrium was making her antsy and clouding her judgment. “That one’s not ideal.”

“It is the most natural to us, though,” Shaper Madga said. “Next!”

She raced forward to catch up with the dwarf, careful not to lose her balance. “How do you know where all these are?”

“Pointless questions get no answers.” She had already found the next entry. “ _In the 5 th and final year of King Wilmar’s reign, His Majesty took a hammer blow to the head in a Provings, said he was fine, and was found dead three hours later in his lavatory. Having left a great deal of bastards from all castes save his own and no legitimate heirs, the succession was left to the Assembly, who, after a year and a half of squabbling, was forced by a revolt to hand the city over to The Servant Queen Dasha, who later gave the throne to her cousin King Duran Holinor after he had her assassinated._”

“We most likely should not be inciting revolts, either,” Morrigan remarked.

“And this last one won’t be very helpful, I’m afraid,” Shaper Magda said, walking up to a carving. “ _In the 17 th and final year of King Vladimir’s reign, His Majesty was deeply frightened by his mother-in-law and descended into a coma from which he never awoke. As his only child was emotionally and mentally unsuited for the throne, the succession was left to the Assembly, who, after two years of negotiating, brokered a deal to put King Ragnan I of House Aeducan on the throne._”

Rowena was silent for a moment, letting it all sink in. “That’s all there is?”

She nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“What did I tell you?” Rolfdir asked. “There was nothing waiting for you here, I knew it.”

Rowena’s mind was whirring, either an effect of the lyrium or her own unwillingness to be wrong. She had not come to a library for nothing, after all. “But what…what about the first king? How was he chosen?”

Shaper Magda stopped and gave her an appraising glance. “You mean Bloadlikk?”

“Excuse me?”

She sighed. “Bloadlikk, the First King! The youngest and wisest of the Seven Brothers who founded our empire! Our first ruler!”

“Oh! Right!” She had never heard of him in her life. “How was he chosen? What did the Assembly do then?”

Magda and Roldir looked at each other. “Nothing,” Rolfdir said slowly. “The Assembly wasn’t around then.”

“The Great Ancestor chose him,” Magda said. “The Seven Brothers’ mother, the woman from whom we can all trace our descent. She saw how clever her son was and chose him to lead the Dwarva.”

Rowena felt like swearing. “Again, the Ancestors – maybe we can just push Harrowmont and Bhelen into the Arena together…”

“This is different,” Magda said thoughtfully. “The Great Ancestor was not a representative of the Ancestors – she was a Living Ancestor. Living Ancestors, therefore, can choose a king.”

“Would that really be accepted in the Assembly?” Rolfdir asked, frowning.

“I am the person who makes that decision for the Assembly, and it makes sense to me,” Magda said coldly. “There is a clear precedent, and their word goes even beyond the king’s in government. It’s just so rare to _have_ Living Ancestors that they’ve never had a chance to decide the succession.” She looked excited. “Warden, this may be your chance!”

The lyrium was giving Rowena a headache. “I’m sorry, can someone fill me in on what a Living Ancestor is?”

“Paragons,” Magda said. “Living representations of the Dwarva and the Stone. If you can get a Paragon to support a candidate, that candidate will be named king.”

“A shame, then, that there are no Living Paragons currently,” Rolfdir said.

“That’s not true,” Morrigan said. “That Branka woman is a Paragon, is she not?”

“Paragon Branka is as good as dead,” Rolfdir said. “She disappeared months ago into the Deep Roads – if she’s not already rotting in some hurlock’s stomach, we’d need a whole army to go out and rescue her, and who’d want to do that?”

Rowena froze for a moment. An idea was forming in her mind, a crazy, dangerous one. “Rolfdir, take us back home,” she said slowly. “I think I have a plan.”

* * *

 The smell and the food in prison, Eruestan could get used to. The inactivity, however, was proving to be a challenge.

“We should have never, ever come to Orzammar,” he said, pacing the cell. “The horde could be at Denerim by now, and we’d have no idea. We’re going to die in here.”

“You’re cheerful,” Alistair said, checking his nails. “And don’t worry – Rowena’s smart, she’ll get us out of here.”

Eruestan tutted. “Well, I’m smart, too, and look where we are.”

“Someone thinks highly of himself,” Leliana remarked.

“Eruestan _is_ very smart, though,” Zevran said quietly. Eruestan looked over at him sharply, but the assassin was just lazily drawing circles in the dirt of the cell.

“In any case, all this worrying isn’t going to do anyone any good,” Wynne said firmly. She looked stronger than she had all night, resting her head against the walls of the cell. “And Eruestan, if you’re looking to distract yourself, perhaps you could help our…friend…”

Eruestan glanced over to Oghren, who was busy vomiting in the back corner. “How, by giving him a new liver?”

“My frigging liver’s fine, you twinkler,” Oghren groaned, staggering back to his feet. “And if you’re looking for a distraction, there’s nothing better than fighting to take a man’s mind off things. The old way, too – fist on fist, no weapons, just good old-fashioned man-on-man pain match.”

“Lost me at ‘fight’, interested me again with ‘fist’, ultimately lost me with ‘pain match’ but gave me a marvelous fantasy with ‘man-on-man’, so thank you,” Zevran said, still drawing his dirt circles.

Leliana sighed as she finished braiding her hair for the seventeenth time. “Zevran, you try too hard.”

He grinned at her. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve heard that.”

“You stay over there, elf,” Oghren grunted. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

Eruestan started to say something. Before he could, however, the door to the cell room burst open and a squadron of guards walked through.

“Your Excellencies,” the head guard said. “We have good news.”

“Doubt it,” Alistair muttered.

Eruestan raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”

She pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the cell door. “You’re free to go. All of Orzammar is now open to you.”

Of all the things he had expected to hear, that was not it. “We’re…wait, what?”

“You’re free to go,” she said. “Your movement through the city is no longer restricted, and all penalties have been cleared.”

Eruestan was stunned. “Really? Why?”

“You’ll have to ask someone else about that – I’m just following orders.” She glanced over at Oghren. “You’re free to go as well, you fat oaf. Some poor fool’s paid your bail.”

“‘Bout damn time,” he growled. “I need a drink.”

They began to file out warily from their cell. Eruestan wouldn’t have put it past the city to sound an alarm and claim that they were trying to escape. The guards, however, did nothing. “What do you think happened?” he asked. “Did Rowena find us a way out?”

“That, or the Assembly finally realized how stupid it was to keep Grey Wardens locked up during a Blight,” Leliana replied.

“That’s not likely, is it?” Wynne asked.

They walked out of the prison and out onto the street. The city was bustling – the dwarves seemed shocked to see them. Now, however, there was no fear or scorn in the crowds. Instead, there was a sense of respect that almost bordered on awe.

“Something weird is going on,” Eruestan murmured, eyeing the people.

“I shudder to think what that might mean for Orzammar,” Wynne said. “What on Earth are they whispering about?”

Two women were walking past them, eyes wide as they gossiped furiously in Dwarven.

Oghren swore loudly, making everyone jump. “No one told me you blasted nugfuggers were going into the Deep Roads, too!”

“What?” Alistair asked sharply.

“We didn’t agree to that, Oghren,” Eruestan said.

“That’s what everyone’s talkin’ about,” the dwarf snarled. “What, you thought you’d pull one over on ole Oghren? Make a fool outta him, too?”

“No, honestly, we didn’t—”

“Whatever,” he said. “I’m goin’ to Tapster’s – don’t let the door hit ya where the Stone split ya.”

“These dwarves have such a way with words,” Zevran said, watching him leave.

Eruestan glanced at the others. “This can’t be good.”

“Rowena will be able to tell us more,” Wynne said, frowning. “We should get back to the mansion immediately.”

“There must be a mistake,” Alistair said. Eruestan noticed that he had gone slightly pale. “We can’t be going into the Roads.”

“It’ll be all right, Alistair,” Eruestan said. “Let’s just meet with Rowena and see what this is all about.”

She was waiting for them in the parlor as they walked inside, Morrigan, Sten, and Rolfdir at her side. “You’re back!” she said, relieved. “I was worried they’d give you trouble at the prison.”

“None at all,” Eruestan replied. “How the hell did you get us out?”

“Only by defiling the most sacred of Orzammar’s traditions!” Rolfdir cried. The dwarf was slumped against his chair, his face completely white. “She blasted her way into the Assembly Chamber, had that witch disarm all the guards, and derailed the city’s holy proceedings!”

Eruestan’s jaw had dropped. “You didn’t.”

She looked a little sheepish. “I did.”

“Why?” Alistair asked, crossing his arms. “What was the point?”

She paused. “Well, this morning I went to the library.”

That took a moment to sink in. “You _what_?” Wynne asked.

“Oh, shut up,” she said. “Someone told me to try looking at the Shaperate for answers, and while I was there I found a loophole that allows Paragons to choose kings or queens.”

The gears in Eruestan’s head began turning. “Why hasn’t anyone told us this before?”

“These are extremely rare circumstances,” Rolfdir said, mopping his forehead over and over again with his handkerchief. “The vast majority of Paragons are named after their deaths, and as there have only been four succession crises in our history, no Paragon has been alive to settle the decision.”

“Luckily for us, there is one now,” Rowena said. “But, since no one else was willing to go find Paragon Branka, I volunteered us to go into the Deep Roads and rescue her.”

Rolfdir snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

Alistair looked horrified. “You did _what_?”

“What?” she asked, slightly defensive. “I got you out of prison, didn’t I?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“This does seem a little extreme,” Wynne said in alarm. “Are you sure this is the only option?”

“We tried to reason with her beforehand,” Morrigan sighed. “She does seem to have a death wish, though.”

Alistair was grimacing at this point. “You have no idea.”

“Well, when are we supposed to leave?” Leliana asked. “Maybe we can work out a different deal before we go…”

“Probably not,” Rowena said. “We leave tomorrow morning.”

“ _What_?”

“Why don’t we talk about this in the study, Rowena?” Eruestan said quickly, noticing the look on her face as she gauged the mood in the room. “We can all calm down and figure out what exactly is going on.”

She nodded slowly, eyes narrowed at everyone else in the parlor. He followed her and Cormac back to the library, closing the door behind him. “I honestly don’t see what all the fuss is,” she said hotly, turning to him. “I didn’t see anyone else have any big idea to get ourselves free.”

“I mean, at the same time, it is the bloody Deep Roads,” Eruestan said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I don’t think anyone would be thrilled to go down there alone.”

“But we’re not going alone!” she said, surprised. “We’re going with the Legion of the Dead.”

He frowned. “The what?”

“I don’t actually know,” she admitted. “Evidently they fight darkspawn, too? I didn’t really understand. In any case, there’s a group of new recruits going out into the Deep Roads tomorrow morning, and they’re going to accompany us until we find Branka.”

“Well, I feel better about that,” Eruestan said. “How the _hell_ did you get them to agree to anything?”

“Honestly, it wasn’t my best idea,” she said, grinning. “They were about five minutes away from throwing me into the cell with you. Once they heard my plan, though…I think most of them were relieved. The nobility’s getting worried about Bhelen’s popularity with the lower castes, and someone told me after the fact that they think the Assembly is hoping that if we can find Branka, she’ll choose Harrowmont.”

“That’s a bit of a risk.”

She shrugged. “Branka’s a noble. They’re definitely going to trust her more than anyone poorer than them.”

“This is such a headache,” Eruestan sighed. “How does anyone do politics?”

“We’re going to have to figure it out,” Rowena said. “If we ever get out of here, we’ll eventually have the Landsmeet to worry about.”

“Right…about that.” He sat down on the nearest couch. “In the cell last night I had a chance to think about everything that’s going on here, and how it’s going to affect what we do on the surface…well, in any case, I was wondering – have you spoken with Alistair at all about the Landsmeet?”

She blinked. “Uh…no, no I haven’t.”

“Well, you should,” he said. “When the Landsmeet comes, we won’t have time to waste deliberating over who gets the throne.”

She looked wary. “You know that Alistair doesn’t want to be king.”

“Well, we should make sure of that now,” he said. “The less we have to decide in the future, the better.”

“Fair enough.” She glanced over at the door. “So, should I go talk to them? Or should you?”

“Maybe let me do it,” he said, half grinning. “We’re all a little shocked – I might be able to soften the blow.”

“Oh, seriously, what good are Grey Wardens if we can’t even go into the Deep Roads – _oh_!” She started and turned to him. “Speaking of softening blows, I just remembered! I have good news, for once!” He raised his eyebrows. “Lanca came by today and told me that she’s done with Zevran – or wait, I’m sorry, _Zevvie_.”

That was the last thing he was expecting to hear. “Oh no!”

“I know, it’s great, isn’t—wait, what?” She stared at him. “What do you mean, ‘oh no’? Aren’t you happy?”

“Why would I be?” he asked. “Zevran’s going to be hurt! They were getting really close!”

“Eruestan, you know I love you, but you’re not nearly enough of a good person to actually mean that.”

“I’m serious!” She was smiling smugly at him, and he didn’t like it. “I should go tell him – and everyone! About the Deep Roads! Not about, you know – oh, shut up! And stop smiling!”

“Have fun!” she called after him. He flashed her a rude gesture and began walking back to the parlor, trying to ignore his increased heart rate.

The others were waiting anxiously for him when he got back. “So what’s going on?” Alistair asked, coming over to him. “Rolfdir’s been hyperventilating in the corner, and Morrigan and Sten aren’t saying anything.”

“I doubt you’d even understand it if I did,” Morrigan said.

“Shut up, Morrigan!”

“Alistair! Calm down!” The knight scowled and moved to the back of the room. “Anyways, Rowena’s explained a little more about what we’re supposed to be doing, and it really doesn’t seem that bad.”

“Oh, right! It’s only the Deep Roads, guys!”

“That’s enough, Alistair,” Wynne said soothingly. “Let Eruestan speak.”

“Thank you, Wynne,” the mage said. “Look, I’m not excited about it, either, but according to Rowena, we’re going to be accompanied by the Legion of the Dead.”

“Is that a good thing?” Leliana asked.

“It is and it isn’t,” Rolfdir said, his breath slowing. “The Legion is dedicated to fighting the darkspawn, and have the best knowledge of the Deep Roads of anyone in the city.”

“So what’s the bad news?” Eruestan asked.

“They’re condemned,” Rolfdir replied. “Most are disgraced nobles or criminals. They’re required to fight to the death in the Deep Roads, and are considered already dead in Orzammar.”

“Oh, great!” Alistair said. “Sounds solid!”

“Well, at the very least we’ll have companions,” Eruestan said. “And honestly, what else were we going to do? Rowena was right, there’s not much else we can do to get out of Orzammar.”

“Right, so we’ll just die instead! Good plan!”

“Alistair!” The knight fell silent again. Eruestan turned to the others with his eyebrows furrowed. “Look, everyone, this is daunting and a bit haphazard, but this it’s either this or rotting in prison while the world falls to pieces.”

The room was silent.

“That shouldn’t be that hard of a decision,” he said.

“I don’t know, Eruestan,” Leliana said. “The Deep Roads sound…unpleasant.”

“That’s an understatement,” Rolfdir said. “Hardly anyone comes out of the Deep Roads alive.”

Eruestan frowned. “That has to be an exaggeration, Rolfdir.”

The dwarf wasn’t paying attention. “Fifteen years ago we sent out five hundred men on a research expedition to a site five miles from the city. Not a single one came back.”

“Maker’s breath!”

“Everyone, stop listening to Rolfdir,” Eruestan said loudly. “Think of everything we’ve done! We found the Urn of Sacred Ashes! We killed a dragon! We fought off an army of undead! We can do this!”

The room was silent again.

He sighed. “Look, I’d put it to a vote, but we’ve already committed to this plan, and the only other alternative is to put ourselves back into prison. Why don’t we all just let it sit for a while, and get ourselves used to the idea?”

“That’s not likely,” Alistair said gruffly. “Is Rowena still in the library?”

Eruestan nodded. “She should be, at least.” The knight grunted and left the room.

“I should go to my room,” Wynne said, standing up. “If we’re leaving tomorrow, I need to rest.”

“We all should,” Leliana said. “Let’s go, everyone.”

They began filing out of the room, all looking far more grim than he had ever seen them. As the parlor emptied, Eruestan grabbed Zevran’s arm gently before he could leave. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said softly. “Would you mind coming up to my room?”

The elf winked. “It was only a matter of time, my friend.”

Eruestan rolled his eyes and led him up the stairs. As they walked through his door, he was surprised to find that his heart was fluttering. He had never had to do this before, and he wasn’t sure he even knew how to. How would Zevran take the news? It certainly wasn’t something anyone would want to hear. Would he start crying? Was that something people did in these situations? By the time they reached his room, a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind, threatening to overwhelm him.

“So,” Zevran said, “how are we going to do this? Should I spread you onto the bed, or would you rather ride me?”

This threw him even more. “Zev…I…that’s not—”

“I’m kidding,” he said, grinning. Eruestan’s stomach clenched. “So, what is it you want to tell me?”

“It’s not good…” Zevran frowned and sat down on the bed. “Zev, I don’t know how to say this, but…Lanca…evidently, she said that she’s…well, she’s not going to be…with you…anymore…”

“Oh!” He stood up again. “Is that it? I thought maybe there was a plague going around.”

“No – what?” Eruestan stared at him for a moment. “No, Zev, why would I have to wait to tell you that?”

The assassin shrugged. “Plagues are bad.”

“Yes, I guess – no, wait, what?” He stared at Zevran in growing shock. “You’re not—why aren’t you upset?”

“Why should I be?” Zevran asked, grinning. “I enjoyed my time with her, and now I will move to someone else. Life is short, my friend, and there are plenty of beautiful people to go around.”  

“Yes, but, Zevran…you were seeing her! Intensely! For weeks!”

Zevran began twirling a strand of his hair around his finger. “Three weeks is not a very long time, my friend.”

Eruestan was mad out of nowhere, mad to the point of seething. Zevran’s indifference was infuriating. “That doesn’t matter! You were happy together! How can you not be affected by something like this? You should be sad, damn it!”

“What’s the point in that?” Zevran asked, standing up. “Sad, happy, upset – why should this be dictated by someone else? Why should my emotions depend on the whims of another?”

“Well, because it’s bloody human!” Eruestan spluttered.

Zevran raised an eyebrow. “We are not humans, my friend.”

“You know what I mean!” he snapped. “Maker’s breath, Zevran, it’s like you don’t let yourself have any emotions at all!”

“Well, why do you care, Eruestan?” Zevran’s face was cold, like a statue. “What does it matter? What I do and who I see has nothing to do with you!”

His voice was caught in his throat. “I don’t—”

“That is correct: you don’t.” Zevran turned from him. “You don’t have the right to tell me how to live. No one does.” Eruestan tried to speak, but Zevran cut him off. “I do not get attached, Eruestan,” he said quietly. “The sooner you learn that, the sooner we can be friends.”

Eruestan stared at him, his heart pounding. “That’s…that’s…”

“That is my way in life,” he said. “That is all.”

“I understand,” Eruestan said icily. He had the sudden urge to yell at the assassin, to set him on fire, to curse him. “If you don’t mind, Zevran, I would like to be alone. Close the door on your way out.”

The assassin bowed his head. “Of course. Rest well.”

His chamber door clicked shut as Zevran left. He sank on his bed, head now throbbing with his heart. What on Earth was going on?

* * *

 Rowena had been lost in thought in the library, going over everything the Assembly had shouted at her earlier that day. There was nothing to prepare, beyond their own weapons. The city would give them enough food to survive a few days, and then the Legion would help them after their stores ran low. It was thus just a matter of finding Branka quickly, and finding her alive at that. Difficult, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible.

She started when Alistair entered, shaking her from her reveries. “Sorry!” she said, smiling. “I was just thinking.”

“Ah.” It was the first time his voice had ever sounded cold. She frowned and stood up next to him.

“Are you all right?” she asked, taking his hand. “You seem a little out of sorts.”

“I’m fine,” he said abruptly. He squeezed her hand and then broke away, turning to the shelves behind him. “There are a lot of books here.”

“That’s what generally happens in a library.” She meant it as a joke, but he didn’t laugh. “Alistair, seriously, what’s the matter? I know no one wants to go into the Deep Roads, but you seem really upset about it.”

“Rowena, please, let’s not talk about it,” he snapped. “Please, let’s just talk about something else – _anything_ else.”

She was taken aback. “Uh…how was…how was prison?”

“What do you think?”

“What is your problem?” she snapped back at him. “Are you that pissed about the expedition? Because I may be wrong, but I don’t think you had any brilliant suggestions back in the prison about how to get this whole mess sorted out!”

“Yeah, I’m pissed!” He turned to face her angrily, making Cormac growl gently at Rowena’s side. “I’m pissed that you waltzed into the Assembly and made a huge decision without asking any of us! I’m pissed at this whole shite city and these shite dwarves and every shite thing we’ve had to do since we came to this bloody shite pile!”

“And you think I’m thrilled about it?” she shot back. “Andraste’s bleeding ass, are you angry that I didn’t _ask_ you first? That I didn’t announce my plan in front of the whole damn prison first? In case you haven’t noticed, people who do that don’t last very long around here!”

“I don’t care what you do or what you decide! The fact is, you’re getting off on the idea of throwing us all into a suicide mission just so you can play warrior princess!”

“Shut up!” she yelled. The library had gotten bizarrely hot, and she was saying things without really thinking about where they were coming from. “How dare you think that this is just a game for me! You know how dedicated I am to this – you know I haven’t gotten this far just to die in the end!”

“I don’t know that!” he shouted back. “This feels like the Provings all over again! You’re just throwing yourself into the arena without thinking about the consequences!”

“And thank the Maker I did!” she shot back. “How should I act? Like you? Never making a decision? Always letting someone else take the reins? If it were up to you, we’d still be stuck in Lothering trying to figure out where to go first! Maker, and to think that Eruestan wants to make you the bloody king…”

“What?” Alistair’s face had frozen. “He what?”

She didn’t know why she’d said it, especially because it wasn’t wholly true. Still, in her anger the look of fear on his face was too good to let go. “Eruestan, for whatever reasons he has, wants to put you up in front of the Landsmeet as a candidate for the throne,” she said, crossing her arms.

Alistair was shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

She laughed. “Why? Because you’re afraid you’ll have to take charge of things for once in your life?”

“No!” He paused, his face red. “Well, yes! But that’s not it! Grey Wardens can’t be kings!”

“Well, you’re shite at both, so—”

“Just listen to me,” he said hotly. “You want to know why I can’t be king? You want to know why I’m afraid of the Deep Roads? It’s because Wardens die there, Rowena.”

There was something in the way he said that that made her uneasy. Still, her temper was flaring, and her raider’s blood refused to be calmed. “And? What’s your point? You’re afraid?”

“That’s not what I mean.” His voice was quieter now, almost steely. “I don’t know if we’ll die there tomorrow or next week, but one day, when our time comes, we’ll be sent to the Deep Roads and we won’t come back.”

Her breath hitched. “What…what are you talking about?”

“It’s the Taint,” he said quietly. “The blood we drank – it affects us, too, just not as quickly as it does others. The magic keeps it in check for a while, but at a certain point…” His voice trailed off, hanging in the tense air of the library. “We send ourselves to the Deep Roads to die fighting, rather than become monsters on the surface. What we see tomorrow will one day be the last things we’ll ever see – unless, of course, we’re killed beforehand.”

He might have meant that as a joke; Rowena wasn’t paying attention. “How long?” she asked, her mind reeling. “How long until that?”

“It depends,” Alistair replied. “It varies slightly for everyone…but the average is thirty years. Thirty years after your Joining.”

Her knees were threatening to buckle. She sank to the couch behind her, ignoring Cormac as he licked her hand anxiously. Thirty. What a cold, unfeeling number. Thirty years. She would be in her late forties by then, her hair perhaps gone grey. A longer life, to be fair; her mother had been younger when she died. Still, suddenly her life was bookended, the mystery of her ending somewhat removed. Now, no matter how many enemies she bested or adventures she survived, her own blood would eventually betray her. She had the sudden desire to claw open her veins, to get rid of the Taint that was now poisoning her.

Alistair was saying something. “…it’s hard to hear. I still haven’t accepted it – you could probably tell from what a bastard I’ve been – in the figurative sense this time, I mean, I’ve always been a literal bastard…”

“You didn’t tell us,” she said suddenly, looking up to him. The flames were fanning themselves again. “All this time we’ve been together, and you didn’t say a word.”

He looked pained. “It’s not exactly my favorite topic of conversation—”

“You didn’t tell us,” she repeated, standing up again. “You…you _unbelievable_ bastard! You flaming pile of shite! You waited until _now_ to tell me this?”

All the anger had left his face, replaced by chagrin. “I’m so sorry, it’s not something I think about, I just—”

“You just what?” Her head was pounding, she needed to leave. “You kiss me, you tell me I’m beautiful, but you can’t tell me the truth? You…you killed me! You killed Eruestan!”

“Rowena, that’s not fair…” He reached out to her slowly, clearly horrified by how she had reacted.

“ _Get away from me_!” she yelled, making him jump back “I can’t…I can’t even look at you!”

“Rowena!” It was too late. She spun around and raced out of the room, Cormac at her heels.

* * *

 Eruestan was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think. Suddenly his door flew open and slammed into the wall. He started and sat up, watching as Rowena stormed into the room, her eyes flashing in anger.

“I need a drink,” she announced. “Want to join me?”

* * *

 The inside of Tapster’s Tavern was, if possible, even shadier than the outside. The lighting was dim, the clients were gruff, and there was a constant sound of someone retching in the background. In any other circumstances, Eruestan would have been on edge. Now, however, he was discovering the joys of dwarven alcohol.

“You know, once you get past the intense burning in your throat, this stuff’s great!” he gushed, downing another cup of ale. He shuddered from the taste, something between tar and acid. “Sweet Andraste!”

Rowena wasn’t paying much attention, talking faster and faster the more she drank. “I just can’t believe it, you know? All this time we’ve known him, and he hasn’t bothered even once to tell us this? What a prick!”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big a deal.” He threw a few coins on the counter. “ _Chelovek! Bol’shee!_ ” The bartender grabbed the money and slammed two more cups onto the counter. “Damn! I love this place!”

“How are you acting so nonchalant about this?” she asked, grabbing one of the cups. “He lied to you about this, too.”

“Honestly, Rowena, I’m not expecting to make it to the end of the week, let alone to age 48,” Eruestan said. “And at least Alistair cares enough about you to shield you from the truth.”

She snorted. “He cares enough to lie to me?”

“Well, yeah!” He nursed his cup, suddenly unsure of what he was saying. “I mean, well, like, obviously Zevran” (he laughed suddenly – what a strange name!) “Zevran doesn’t give a rat’s ass about how I feel, or how I think, so he just goes and says whatever he wants to, you know? Alistair, he like…he…you know, he like, _cares_ about you. Lying means someone cares about you.”

She started giggling. “Eruestan, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He snorted into the ale. “I know!”

She laughed and raised her cup. “All right, what are we drinking to?”

He tried to keep his face straight. “Fuck Zevran!”

“No, fuck Alistair!” she said.

They both grinned broadly and clinked their cups. “Fuck blondes!” they said loudly, and then collapsed into laughter.

An hour later they were slumped against each other in a table near the back, stroking each other’s hair. “You’re just, like, _so pretty_ ,” Eruestan said, putting a lock of her hair above his mouth like a mustache. “Like, _ridiculously_ pretty.”

“No, _you’re_ pretty!” She sat up and looked at him earnestly. “And you’re so smart!”

“No, _you’re_ smart!”

She grabbed his hand. “Well, you’re smart and pretty and brave and wonderful and everything good and I just love you so, so much!”

Tears were gathering in his eyes. “And I love _you_ so, so much! Rowena, you’re my best friend!”

“No, you’re _my_ best friend!” Both dangerously close to crying, they quickly leaned forward and gave each other tight hugs.

“Hey, you nugfuggers, either get a room or make some room for me,” a familiar voice grumbled in front of them.

They broke apart. “Oghren!” Eruestan cried. “Maker’s breath, it’s been forever! How are you?”

“Gettin’ dangerously sober,” the dwarf grunted. “Mind if I pop a squat?”

“That sounds gross, but sure!” Rowena said. “Barkeep! A bottle of ale for the three of us!”

Oghren slumped down next to them as a server moved to the back with their drinks. “So what brings you two here?” he asked, grabbing a cup the server had poured for him. “Don’t see a lot of Topsiders in Tapsters.”

“We’re celebrating how awful life is,” Eruestan said gravely.

“I’ll drink to that!” Rowena cheered. “To life being shite!”

“To life being shite!” The three of them threw their heads back and downed the contents of their cup.

Oghren whistled as the two of them surfaced from holding back their own sick. “You know, Twinkler and Firecrotch, you’re not bad at holding your liquor.”

“We’re Grey Wardens, Org…Argen, it’s what we do best,” Eruestan slurred. He hiccupped and grabbed for the ale bottle; the tavern had gotten remarkably blurry! “Where…where did it go?”

Oghren chuckled and filled up his cup for him. “Twinkler really wants to pound ‘em back.”

“More like he’d rather be back-pounded,” Rowena snorted.

Eruestan laughed so hard he thought his ribs were going to break. “Shite,” he said, calming down. “I’m sad now.”

“What’s he belly-achin’ about?” Oghren asked.

Rowena’s smile had faded, too. “It’s a long story, Oghren.”

He shrugged. “We got time.”

An hour later (or two? Three?), the three of them were huddled together, clutching onto their ales like lifelines. “I juss don’t understand,” Eruestan said, laying his head on the table. “I liked him _sooooo_ much, and then it all went ‘poof’!”

“Sounds like it went poofy a long time ago,” Oghren said, taking another shot of ale.

Eruestan tried to furrow his eyebrows, but found that he couldn’t. “You’re either funny or mean, I can’t tell.”

“Nah, I’m just twistin’ your balls, forget about it.” He belched and threw his cup down to the ground. “At least your wife and the rest of your friggin’ family didn’t leave you to go kill themselves in the blasted Deep Roads.”

“At least you had a wife,” Rowena sighed, her head resting against the tavern wall. If Eruestan had been in any state to realize it, he would have noticed that she was now speaking with a slight Highever accent. “We’re just shite at romance.”

He snorted. “Romance…you think that was romance? Branka wasn’t a wife, she was a bronco. Only thing she loved was her forge. The closest we got to romance was me askin’ her to sit on my face and her kickin’ me out of the house.”

“At least you asked,” Eruestan said. “You know I bought him a belt before we got here? And I still haven’t given it to him? Pathetic, right?”

“You should give it to ‘im, Eruestan,” Rowena said, closing her eyes. “Make a gesture.”

“Yeah!” he said. “A ges…that thing! I’ll do it!” He turned to Oghren. “You ever try any ges…ges…those things?”

“I asked her to sit on my face!”

Eruestan and Rowena started giggling. “That’s not the same,” Eruestan persisted, grinning. “I mean, like, flowers, or something.”

Oghren grunted. “Yeah, and maybe some perfume, too, right? Shave my beard off, too, right? Let me just put some make-up on and buy her tickets to the theatre while we’re at it!”

Eruestan was confused. “Uh…yeah, those would all be good.”

Rowena mumbled something.

“What?”

“Go to the Deep Roads with us,” she sighed, trying to lift her head. “Help find her. That’ll show her you care.”

“I don’t soddin’ care!” He had yelled it; a minute later, though, he had grown thoughtful. “Huh…at the same time, it might be the last time I’d get to give her a piece of my mind…and it’d piss her off to see me down there…I’ll think about it, Wardens. You might be onto something.”

“Cool,” Eruestan said, hiccupping again. “Now who wants more ale?”

“Me,” all three of them said. Eruestan tried to stand up and collapsed back into his chair, laughing uncontrollably.

The rest of the night passed in blurs. Someone paid him in ale to make their table dance around the tavern with magic. Sometime later, Rowena perked up again and began challenging people to arm-wrestle her. He and Oghren were laughing about something – what was it? Suddenly he was walking down the streets of the city, Wynne and Leliana at either side of him. “What are you two doing here?” he slurred. “Did we stop the Blight?”

Another blur and they were at the mansion, slowly making their way upstairs. Sten and Morrigan were supporting Rowena, who was struggling to keep her footing. “I got this, I got this,” she growled, trying to break free of them. Her knees gave out suddenly and she buckled, almost knocking them over.

“You both need to get to sleep,” Wynne was saying. “We’ll get you some water, and then we’ll lay you down.”

They were at his bedroom now. Across the hall, Zevran’s door was open. “Eruestan, please just sit down,” Leliana said. “Like Wynne said, we’ll just get you – where are you going?”

He didn’t know what had made him think of it. He had just grabbed the belt and ran into the assassin’s room, Wynne and Leliana close behind him. Zevran was standing by his wardrobe, obviously listening to what was going on in the landing. Blinking in surprise, he stared forward awkwardly as Eruestan stumbled in.

“Eruestan!” he said. “Are you all right?”

“S-shut up,” Eruestan hiccupped. “I wanted to give you this.” He threw the belt at Zevran’s feet. “It’s leather and you said you liked leather so I bought it, but you’re stupid now so I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“Ok, Eruestan, it’s time for bed,” Leliana said quickly, grabbing his arm. Too drunk to care, he shook her off abruptly and locked eyes with Zevran.

“And just for the record,” he said, trying hard to keep his head from spinning, “I am _so_ over you. Like, a mountain over you. An eagle! I’m a soaring eagle flying over your mountain, so you don’t have to worry about ‘getting attached’ or ‘having feelings’ or whatever, because I’m a cloud! I’m the sun, and you…you’re…well, I don’t know what you are!”

“Well put, Eruestan,” Wynne said, pulling on him as well. “Now why don’t we…”

He had stopped paying attention. Something was rising out of his stomach – anger? Sadness? By the time he realized what it was, it was too late. Leaning forward, he grabbed his knees and vomited all over Zevran’s floor.

The room was silent for a moment. “Well,” he said, wiping his mouth. “That’s all I have to say about that.”

And that was the last thing he remembered.


	36. Breaching the Depths

_He was running through an open grass plain during a violent storm. Dwarven ale was pouring from the sky, forming giant puddles on the ground. As he tried leaping over one, a mottled hand shot up from the surface, grabbing his ankle and dragging him down—_

“ _Ahh_!” Eruestan jolted up from bed and looked around wildly in the dark, trying to remember where he was. Then, a wave of terrible pain washed over him and made him fall onto his back. “Maker’s breath,” he whimpered. “My head…”

“Yes, unfortunately that’s a side effect of nearly drinking yourself to death,” someone said kindly. He jumped as a ball of light flared up beside his bed next to his head. Wynne smiled in the spell’s glow and handed him a glass of water. “If we were at the Circle, I could give you a potion that would clear that up instantly,” she said sympathetically. “Unfortunately, here all I have is water.”

“I’ll take it,” he said, grabbing the glass. He gulped the water down in a few seconds and then fell back with a moan. He was either going to be ill or have his skull split in half.  “Sweet Andraste, it’s like I ran headfirst into a wall.”

“The first time I tried dwarven ale, I woke up two days later in the Tower storerooms, completely naked and covered in blood lotus,” Wynne said. “All things considered, you’re doing rather well.”

Eruestan laughed weakly. “Well, I guess I didn’t do anything _too_ embarrass…” He cut himself off mid-sentence. A horrifying memory had just popped into his mind. “Wynne, did I…?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “All over Zevran’s floor. He had to sleep in the parlor.”

Eruestan moaned and fell back on his bed. “Kill me.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” she said. “Believe me, I’m sure he’s seen worse. After all, at the end of the day it was all rather sweet.”

He moaned again, praying for the ceiling to crash down on him. “ _Please_ just kill me – it won’t even be murder, you’ll have my permission.”

“There’s no point in having that kind of attitude,” she said, balancing the ball of light in her hand as she stood up. She crossed over to his dresser and pulled out a tunic with an attached breastplate. “In any case, it’s time to leave. The recruits from the Legion of the Dead are about to go through their parting ceremony.”

He tried to stand up. The room swirled and his head threatened to burst. “Wynne, I don’t think I can do this.”

“You’ll push through,” she said firmly. “What was that you were saying last night about fighting demons and finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes? A hangover’s nothing to that.”

He grimaced and finally pulled himself out of bed. The room swayed again, but he swallowed and began dressing himself. The armor was heavy, making his head throb even harder. “How’s Rowena?”

“Surprisingly well,” Wynne said, opening his door. “It must be the Highever blood in her, they all drink like fish. She’s down in the lobby with the others.”

He nodded and followed her out into the landing. His knees buckled immediately; he hadn’t expected the lights to be so bright. “Ah! Maker!”

“It’ll be darker in the Deep Roads, don’t worry,” Wynne said. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he looked over at her and blinked. In the light he could see that she looked exhausted. Her skin was pale and glistening with sweat, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

 “Wynne, you’re not well,” he said gently, clutching the bannister. “You shouldn’t be coming with us, you should rest…”

“There’s no need to worry,” she said, wiping her forehead. “I’ll admit that I’ve been feeling a little weak lately, but I’m not going to abandon you all right before we enter the Deep Roads.”

He bit his lip. “I respect that…still, at the same time, Orzammar’s been bad enough for you – if you go into the Deep Roads...”

“I’ll be fine,” she said firmly. “I may not know how this spirit works, but I’m stronger than I look, and I can feel that it has enough force to keep me around for a little while longer. Besides,” she said, trying to sound off-hand, “even if the worst happens, at least not everyone gets to say they died in the Deep Roads.”

He thought about this for a moment, and then reached out to squeeze her hand. She smiled and squeezed his back. “Let’s join the others,” she said. “We need to be leaving soon.”

The parlor was silent when they walked in. Everyone sat on different couches, refusing to look at each other. Even Cormac seemed out of spirits, resting his head gloomily on Rowena’s lap. Zevran was sitting quietly in the back of the room; Eruestan took a deep breath to keep calm and almost gagged. “What is that smell?”

“Our ‘friend’ followed us back home last night,” Leliana said. She motioned to the back corner. “We tried to kick him out, but he threatened to start urinating all over us, and, well, frankly, I didn’t want to have to boil all my clothes.”

Eruestan looked over to where she was pointing and saw a sleeping pile of red hair scratch itself in a rather impolite area. “Oghren? What are you doing here?”

“We invited him, remember?” Rowena sighed. She looked completely fine, and a small part of him hated her for that. “Not one of our best decisions, mind...”

Someone scoffed. Alistair was sitting on the back couch, staring straight ahead at the wall across from him with his arms crossed. Rowena pursed her lips coldly and crossed her arms as well. Eruestan sighed to himself; this was going to be tricky.

“Well, here you are,” Rolfdir said, walking into the room. “Politeness demands that I not tell you how idiotic the thing you’re about to do is…but still...” He sighed. “I’ll not lie to you, though, it will be nice to finish this contract. My blood pressure has been rising ever since you first came into this city.”

“I mean, we’ll be back at some point, Rolfdir,” Eruestan said. “Hopefully, at least.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Right, of course, my apologies.”

“ _What’s goin’ on_?” Oghren yelled suddenly, sitting straight up. “ _Where the hell am I_?”

Rolfdir took a step back in horror. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“He’s coming with us,” Leliana said, rubbing her temples. “Provided he can stand up, that is.”

“I can stand up, you nugfugger,” the dwarf snarled. He didn’t move. “I mean, just give me a minute.”

“Huh,” Rolfdir said. “I didn’t realize you actually _were_ trying to get yourselves killed.”

“You’re not rid of us yet, little man,” Morrigan said. “Mind your manners lest we change our minds at the gates.”

“If only, if only,” Alistair said.

“We should head to those gates now, though,” Wynne said. “We’ll miss the ceremony otherwise. Are you able to stand up now, Oghren?”

“For you, Big Tits? Somethin’s standin’ up, sure.”

She closed her eyes. “Please let us leave this house, before I blast him out of it.”

“Wynne’s right,” Rowena said, rising to her feet. “Let’s move out.”

She and Rolfdir led their way out of the mansion and down the streets of the Diamond Quarter. The city was empty; it must have been very early. Their armor echoed in the silence as they descended down the neighborhood. His head still reeling from the hangover, each step felt like a knife plunging into Eruestan’s brain. It was going to be a long day.

At the gates that normally brought them out of the Diamond Quarter, Rolfdir turned in the opposite direction, taking them down a wide street leading to the cavern floor. Before long, they had reached a set of massive gates. “These are the Doors of Caridin,” Rolfdir said. “They’re our last line of defense against the darkspawn – they say they’re impregnable.”

Oghren snorted. “Easy to call something impregnable when no one’s ever tried to breach them.”

Rolfdir frowned. “Well…that’s not…oh, whatever. Like I said, they _say_ they’re impregnable, anyways.” Obviously annoyed, he walked up to the gates and leaned back to shout. “You there! The Grey Wardens have come to enter the Deep Roads!” Someone in the gatehouse shouted back his assent. “We’ve arrived just in time,” Rolfdir said. “The ceremony must have just begun.”

“What ceremony?” Eruestan asked. At that moment, the Doors of Caridin began to rumble open. The land beyond was jagged and steep, leading down to a small set of steel doors in the cavern wall. Rolling out in front of them was a patch of flat earth covered in small rocks and dust. There, a man was bowed over two people lying on the ground, hands pointed to the earth as he chanted something to himself.

“What’s going on?” Leliana asked. “Are they praying?”

“Not quite,” Rolfdir said, leading them forward. “This is a funeral for the new recruits to the Legion.”

Eruestan blinked. “What do you mean? Are they already dead?”

“Yes,” Rolfdir said. “But…well, no. But yes.”

Everyone stared at him.

“Stone’s sake, man, they’re not friggin’ idiots,” Oghren said. “The Legion of the Dead is all about honor. Someone disgraces themselves in life, they can “die” a hero’s death and go fight for the city in the Deep Roads. If it happens, though, they’re really dead as far as the city cares. No takin’ it back.”

Eruestan turned to look at Oghren. “Does this city ever feel weird to you, too?” he murmured.

The dwarf shrugged. “Drinkin’ helps – I got some ale if you want it.”

The thought of more alcohol made his stomach churn. “Er, no, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Oghren opened his flash and took a long swig. Eruestan had to turn his head to keep from being sick.

As they drew nearer, they began to hear the words of the ceremony droning over the roar of the lava behind them. The man praying had his face completely covered in tattoos. They were mostly just lines and shapes, yet for some reason a chill went down Eruestan’s spine. “What’s he saying?” he asked.

Rolfdir’s face was blank. “Who?”

“That man,” Rowena said, frowning. “The one chanting, with all the tattoos?”

The dwarf shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oghren belched and turned back to the others. “Well, look, he’s dead, right? Only dwarves can’t come back as ghosts. This idiot has to pretend that man doesn’t exist or else he’s breakin’ the rules of polite society.”

Morrigan scoffed. “A pity we can’t do the same to you.”

“Huh,” Leliana said in surprise. “Normally you’d say that kind of thing to Alistair.”

“Yes, I am just _so_ lucky to have so many options. Your Maker must really be smiling on me.”

“So let me get this straight, Rolfdir,” Rowena said, turning back to him. “Right now, you think these new recruits are performing their own funerals for themselves?”

“Such strange times we live in, aren’t they?” he said loudly. “In any case, you might remember one of them – Boyar Dagmar, Lord Harrowmont’s champion from King Endrin’s Proving…the one Your Excellency replaced, of course, when you risked your neck in the ring.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eruestan muttered. “Who’s the other one?”

“Gospodin Beomar, from the Merchant Caste. Evidently his father was caught evading import taxes on luxury goods from Orlais – rather than have the family’s reputation destroyed, the son put the blame on himself sacrificed himself to the Legion.”

Eruestan looked over at the prostrate recruits. They were lying face down in the dirt, their bodies covered in rocks and pebbles. “How long will they stay like that?”

“Oh, they’ve been lying out all night,” Rolfdir said. “The ceremony itself will end soon, however, at which point the Legionnaire—er, I mean, someone…that is…” He flushed as his voice trailed off. “You’ll get information…somehow…”

“This is insane,” Alistair muttered.

“It’s all rather interesting, though, isn’t it?” Leliana asked dreamily. “Being invited to your own funeral, that is. Think of all the lovely things you’d get to hear others say about you!”

Oghren snorted. “Yeah, it’s a little different down here. I wrote most of my old man’s eulogy about how all the rumors about him snortin’ elfroot were true.”

For a moment, Leliana looked speechless. “How—you—how could you? What on earth would your father think?”

“No use twistin’ your panties, he was a bastard anyways.” He spat and readjusted his armor. “Besides, I got too drunk halfway through the ceremony to give it—threw up all over my Aunt Gerta instead.”

Leliana looked over to Eruestan and Rowena. “This is _really_ the man you want to go with us into the Deep Roads?”

“No,” Rowena said bluntly. “But he’s coming anyways.”

“Suits me fine,” Oghren said. “Might finally get to see Big Tits naked this time.”

Wynne looked down at him in utter disdain. “Don’t hold your breath, you drunken oaf.”

“Please do, actually,” Sten said. “You reek.”

“Guys, that dead dwarf is coming over, be quiet,” Eruestan said. He paused for a moment. “That was a ridiculous sentence.”

“Ah, yes, Your Excellencies,” Rolfdir said, clearly trying to think of a way to explain what was happening. The Legionnaire stopped in front of them and waved. “The, uh, the…the ceremony is finished.”

“We can see that, Rolfdir,” Rowena said. “So who is this, exactly?”

The dwarf was at a loss for words. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. No one’s here.”

Eruestan sighed. “My head hurts way too much to be dealing with this right now.”

“If someone _were_ to be here, however,” Rolfdir said carefully, “his name might be Dmitri Hardor, former boyar and Legionnaire of the Dead.”

The Legionnaire grinned broadly. “You all can just call me Dima. I’ll be your guide in the Deep Roads – until we meet up with the rest of the Legion, that is.”

“And when will that be, exactly?” Wynne asked. “We haven’t been told much at all about what we’ll be doing.”

“I don’t know,” Rolfdir said loudly. “You’ll have to find out inside.”

Everyone turned and stared at him. Dima just chuckled. “Oh, don’t mind him,” he said. “No one ever knows how to act around us. Come on, let’s join with the new recruits first before we get into any details.”

He led them over to the new Legionnaires, who were just then dusting themselves off from the ceremony. Eruestan looked them over surreptitiously as they stood up. They both looked like very different people. Dagmar was all angles and muscles, brushing herself off with cold determination mirrored by the harsh expression on her face. It was as if a statue of a warrior had come to life in front of them. Beomar, on the other hand, looked like a child, with pink, round cheeks and gently curled hair. His eyes flitted around nervously, making Eruestan doubt he’d ever used the war axe clutched in his hands.

He didn’t have much time to reflect on this, however, because at that moment Dima began to tie a rope around all of them. “Well, bondage certainly wasn’t what I had in mind for this morning,” Rowena joked. No one said anything. “Really? No one wants to pile on that? Not even you, Zevran?”

“My mind is elsewhere,” the elf said curtly. Eruestan winced at his tone. “Besides, if you consider this bondage, you really need to spend a few nights in Antiva.”

“This isn’t about bondage, it’s about safety,” Dima said, tying a knot around his own waist. “There are no lights where we’re going, so we’re going to have to stick together to make sure that no one gets lost.”

Eruestan’s heart started beating strangely. “What do you mean, there are no lights?”

“The route to Orzammar was darkened after the Second Blight, in an attempt to keep the darkspawn away,” he said. “After the first major intersection, though, the rest of the Roads are fine. That’s where my outpost is – it’s where we normally induct new recruits. Fortunately for the rest of you, it’s also where the Paragon was last sighted.” He looked over to Dagmar and Beomar and smiled. “The induction ceremony is much easier than the funeral, don’t worry.”

“It is an honor to serve the Dwarva, no matter the toll,” Dagmar said stiffly. “No price is too great in sacrifice to my people.”

Beomar’s knees were shaking. “We’re not going to be covered in rocks again, are we?”

“What’s going to happen to us once we get there?” Rowena asked. “How far did Branka get from this outpost?”

“My captain will know more about that,” Dima said. “She’ll send a small accompanying force with you once you’re ready to plunge further into the Roads. Right now, though, you should all start saying your goodbyes. We could be stuck in there for weeks.”

Eruestan stared at the doors in front of them. They were small, surprisingly, yet covered in deep gouges and strange runes. Power pulsed from them, a terrible one that spoke of hidden depths and great evil. He started looking around wildly; Rowena was tied to his left side, Oghren to his right. “Is anyone else freaking out right now?” he whispered urgently.

Oghren belched. “Nah, that’s just gas. It’ll pass.”

Rowena looked over to Rolfdir, who was standing off to one side. “I guess we’ll be seeing you, then?”

The dwarf looked sad. “I’ll send word of your demises to the surface, don’t worry. At the very least, it was an honor serving you.”

Rowena sighed as Cormac buried his head in her leg. “That’s…thanks, Rolfdir.”

Dima nodded at what appeared to be the cavern wall. Immediately afterwards, the gates began to rumble open. An awful blackness began to reveal itself before them, a giant gaping jaw they were about to plunge themselves into.

“Just a few ground rules before we go in,” Dima was saying quickly, checking that his knot was tight. “Always stick with the group – if you can’t keep up, tell us to slow down. I know the path well, but there are tons of tunnels out there and people can easily starve to death in them. That applies to the dwarves, too – you may have your Stone sense, but with no map it’s useless. Also, we shouldn’t find any darkspawn this close to the city – hell, if we’re lucky, we won’t find any anywhere. All the same, there’s a lot more out there that would love to kill us. As such, from here on out there’ll be no magic unless in an emergency.”

Morrigan, Wynne, and Eruestan all looked over at him sharply. “What?”

“Almost everything out there that’s dangerous is attracted to lyrium, and magic gets them like nothing else,” he said. “That means no lights, no healing unless the wound is deadly, and no fighting unless we’re desperate. Understood?”

All the mages nodded slowly. Eruestan felt even sicker. “Understood.”

“Great.” He looked forward and pointed into the abyss. “Let’s move out!”

They started walking, bringing themselves closer and closer to the darkness. Eruestan glanced over at the others. Almost everyone was pale, their eyes flitting around the emptiness in front of them. All of a sudden, as they walked through the doors, a horrible whisper flitted through his head, cloyingly sweet and tinged with decay. He, Rowena, and Alistair all twitched sharply, yet no one else noticed. The whisper left as quickly as it had come; still, to his surprise he found that he craved more of it, needed to feel it once more in his head. That faded, too, and before he knew it the doors were already closing.

He turned his head around violently, desperate to get one last glimpse of light. Orzammar was disappearing, a shrinking rectangle that was quickly becoming a sliver. The light seemed to flash for a moment before finally it vanished altogether.

They were in the Deep Roads.

* * *

 It would prove to be one of the longest days in Rowena’s life.

Despite Dima’s repeated assurances that there was nothing to fear around them, the darkness put her on constant edge. It was a monster of its own, a yawning mouth that had swallowed them entirely. Within half an hour she had forgotten what light looked like, how it felt when you stared at it too long. Though the road was smooth and well paved, every step sent a thrill of terror through her, as if she were about to fall off a ledge. She could almost hardly tell where she ended and the blackness began.

To make matters worse, a strange whispering had begun in the back of her mind from the minute they left the city. It was some sort of song, though she coulnd’t tell if there were words or even a melody. All she knew was that she both hated it and needed it. It made her want to claw her eyes out – it had to have something to do with the Wardens. Was that what her death would be like? Would she stumble around here in the darkness, pushed forward by that hideous whispering? The idea made her furious. _Never_ , she thought to herself. _I’ll slit my throat first_.

In his defense, Dima did make an effort to lighten the mood, cracking jokes and reciting facts about the Deep Roads. They were some of the oldest structures in Thedas, built at the time of the ancient elven city of Arlathan. At the time, they had been a system of highways connecting the cities of the dwarven empire stretching from Gwaren to Minrathous. Now, however, they were sealed and overrun with darkspawn and other blighted creatures. The Legion was the only group to still navigate them.

After a few hours, though, his trivia began to get a little grating. Sensing the tension, he fell silent. That proved to be a bad idea. Together, the silence and the darkness were infinitely worse, and a cold sweat began to break out on the back of Rowena’s neck. “Does anyone have any stories?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. “Something to distract us?”

“I heard a story about something one of the Master Assassins did to a disobedient recruit once,” Zevran’s voice said. “They gouged out his eyes and cut off his hands. I never really imagined what that must be like before now…”

She shuddered. “That’s, uh, not quite the type of story I was looking for.”

“That does remind me something my mother once did,” Morrigan said. Even her voice seemed more tense than usual. “A group of hunters had been lurking around our hut when I was a girl – she encased them all in trees, leaving only their mouths exposed. The screams kept us awake for days.”

“Maker’s breath!”

“Not surprised,” Alistair muttered over to her side.

“Someone _has_ to have something lighter,” Eruestan said. Though his voice sounded steady, Rowena could tell that he was trying very hard to keep himself calm. “Otherwise we’re all going to go crazy.”

“Do _you_ have anything?” Alistair asked.

“Well, no, but I’m hungover and scared out of my mind, so…”

Rowena didn’t want to think about fear. “Leliana? You have to have something.”

The bard sighed. “Unfortunately all I can think about are the Forgotten Ones.”

All the dwarves in the party swore loudly. “Stone’s teats, woman, why’d you got to say somethin’ stupid like that?” Oghren barked. “Half of us are about to piss ourselves as it is!”

“Who are the Forgotten Ones?” Rowena asked.

Dima coughed. “That, uh, may not be the best story to be telling at the moment…”

“They’re part of an old dwarven legend,” Leliana said, cutting him off. “A merchant told me about them at a party once. According to him, they’re survivors of the great dwarven cities lost during the First Blight, corrupted by the Taint. They’ve been sealed in the Deep Roads ever since, hiding in the shadows, stalking their prey in the dark until they attack from behind and drag them back to their lairs…”

Cormac’s head brushed against Rowena’s leg – she almost shouted in fright. “That’s it with the stories,” she snapped, now even more afraid of the dark. “Let’s just get to this outpost as fast as possible.”

They went the rest of the way in silence. They only made one stop for lunch, huddled around the legs of what Dima said was a statue of a dwarven queen. They all ate quickly and without pleasure; standing still made the darkness even worse, and without their armor clinking they were able to hear a distant screeching coming from somewhere behind them.

“Those are deepstalkers,” Dima said, trying to sound upbeat. “Kind of like rats down here. They’ve got nasty sets of teeth, but they’re easy enough to fight off – unless they swarm, of course. Don’t worry, they hardly ever do that this close to the city.”

Everyone stopped eating at that point. For the rest of the day, Rowena found herself constantly skipping forward, sure she had just felt a claw at the back of her ankle.

Time began to fall out of focus. She was finding it hard to think; the whispers and the growing fear were swirling in her stomach. She was starting to see images dancing in the black, darkspawn and demons and dragons with glowing teeth. She could not let herself crack, not now, when she had already been through so much. _I am Rowena Cousland_ , she began to repeat to herself. _I am the last of a long line of great warriors. I am a Grey Warden, a tournament champion, a Cousland. I am strong and I am brave. I will not break. I am Rowena Cousland…_

It was halfway through one of these mantras that the rope tying them together suddenly went taut, making them all stumble. Dima had stopped short in the middle of the road. “We’re almost at the outpost,” he said. “It’s located at Caridin’s Cross, the first major intersection between Orzammar and the rest of the Deep Roads. There’ll be light there, don’t worry.”

“Light?” Eruestan’s voice trembled, echoing slightly in the empty roads.

“Yes, it’ll be—”

“ _Stoy!_ ” someone yelled sharply in the dark. Beomar shrieked, making them all jump. “ _Kto idyot?_ ”

“ _Zdrastvuy, sestra_!” Dima called back. “Nastia, it’s Dima – I have the new recruits and the Grey Wardens!”

A flash of light flared in the distance, making Rowena’s heart flutter. A few moments later, a dwarf with tattoos over her face appeared in front of them, carrying a small lantern. “About damn time, Dmitri,” she said. “We thought the Stalkers might have gotten to you.”

The lantern light made all the difference. Rowena looked over at the others in relief – their faces were all drawn and weary. “It just took us a little longer than I was expecting,” Dima said. “Everyone, this is Legionnaire Nastia, the sentry for our outpost.”

Dagmar started suddenly. “Vladimir?” she asked, peering at Nastia’s face. “Is that…is that you?”

Nastia looked stunned. “Damya! Are you the new recruit? I had no idea!” She ran forward and embraced the warrior. “It’s been too long!”

“You two know each other?” Eruestan asked as they broke apart.

Dagmar nodded. “Volodya is my uncle’s youngest son – he joined the Legion three years ago.”

“It’s Nastia now, though,” she said gently. “Joining the Legion gives us all a new chance to start over, to either carry on as we were or choose the identity we always wanted.”

“Too bad we had to die to be able to,” Dima said.

“Fair enough.” She smiled and squeezed Dagmar’s hand. “We can catch up later – I want to hear about the family. You should get them to the captain, though, Dima – there was a cave-in earlier, and it opened a tunnel to a nest of giant spiders. We’ve had to walk on eggshells all day, and Olga’s ready to spit acid.”

“When isn’t she?” He shook his head and pointed down the road that opened out to their left. “The door to Caridin’s Cross is only a few minutes this way. Get ready, though – Old Olga isn’t easy to deal with.”

Eruestan had gotten very stiff at her side. “Did she just say ‘giant spiders’?” he hissed. Rowena shrugged helplessly and started following the two Legionnaires down the road.

Dima grabbed Nastia’s lantern and led the way for them down the tunnel. Rowena was now able to see that the walls bore intricate carvings, some showing dwarves, others looking like extensive graffiti. There was a small door in front of them; Dima stepped forward and pulled a lever, opening it and flooding the tunnel with light.

Squinting, the group walked through, hands held over their eyes. As Rowena began to readjust to the light, she saw that they were in a massive cavern, lit by flowing streams of lava. Bridges and tunnels spanning multiple levels stretched out in every direction. Each tunnel had a large word carved in dwarven runes over it, likely telling the names of the cities they led to. A small stone structure had been built under one of these bridges, from which an angry dwarf was marching over to them.

“Lieutenant!” she yelled, pointing her finger at them. “Where in Stone’s name have you been? We’ve been waiting for you for hours!”

Dima looked remarkably uncomfortable. He closed the door behind them and bowed to the woman. “Our route was long, Captain…”

“Oh, was it? What, you think we were all dicking around out here? I’ve been fighting off giant blasted spiders who keep trying to crawl up my ass, but do you see me complaining?”

“They keep saying ‘giant spiders’,” Eruestan muttered urgently to Rowena. “Why do they keep saying ‘giant spiders’?”

Captain Olga glared at them. “Who are these _duroki_ who can’t keep quiet for five minutes?”

“Warden Eruestan and Warden Rowena are the, uh, Wardens, Captain,” Dima said quickly. “So are the others. Except these two. They’re with us.”

She glanced over at Dagmar and Beomar. “They look soft. As for these idiots, though…” She examined the Wardens, watching as they untied the rope around them. “So, you’re the new Wardens, huh? I’ve seen better.”

“So has everyone, I imagine,” Sten grunted as he ripped his knot to shreds.

She snorted. “I like that one. Now, before you all go and eat, I want a few ground rules. You all may think that you’re high and mighty, but down here it’s the Legion’s word that’s law.”

“The Grey Wardens are the leading authorities on combatting the Blight,” Rowena said, frowning. “Don’t you think we should be in charge?”

Olga did not like being challenged. “How long have you been a Warden, sweetheart? Five months? And the rest of you – who’s even seen a darkspawn?” Rowena looked at the others – to her surprise, Leliana, Sten, and Zevran didn’t raise their hands. “That’s what I thought. You’re just as bad as any new recruit to the Legion. So while you’re down here, you’re going to shut up and fall in line.” Rowena scowled and nodded. “We’ll leave early tomorrow morning – I’m sending some of my best men on this mission, though Stone knows that Branka’s fool arse doesn’t deserve it. If we’re lucky, we’ll find her corpse before too long and you all can go back to the surface. Now, for any mages, if I see so much as a spark fall out of any of your fingertips I’ll make you wish you could magic yourself up to Tevinter. We’ve got a whole nest of lyrium-crazed giant spiders lurking around in some of the higher tunnels, and the instant they catch a whiff of a spell they’ll pounce on us. Am I understood?”

Eruestan looked faint. “How big are these giant spiders?”

“Too big,” the captain growled, turning to leave. “Now go and get some food – you all look like shite.”

“Rest would be nice,” Wynne said. She did look terrible: there were deep bags under her eyes, and she was leaning rather heavily on her staff.  “I think I’ll lie down instead – today has left me a little drained.”

“There are cots laid out for all of you by the fire,” Dima said, finding his voice again once the captain left. “We’ll have someone bring dinner over to all of you as well.”

“Wonderful,” Wynne said. “If you all don’t mind…”

They all began to follow suit. There were two fires set up around the outpost. The Legionnaires were squatted around the farthest one; they settled around the second one. Cormac fell to Rowena’s feet as Eruestan sat down at her side. “So that was pretty awful,” he said finally.

“Don’t get me started,” Leliana said, sitting down at Rowena’s other side. “I thought I was losing my mind. Did anyone else hear chamber music down there?”

“All I could hear was my own heartbeat,” Eruestan said. “How giant do you think these giant spiders are? Like cat-sized, maybe? That’d be pretty giant for a spider, right?”

“Not a fan of spiders, are we?” Leliana teased.

He shuddered. “I’ve never liked them. Too many legs.”

“Well, I think we’ll have more to worry about than spiders,” Alistair said curtly, throwing a plate of food in front of them. Rowena’s spine stiffened. “So don’t think about it too much.”

“That’s the spirit, Alistair,” Leliana said brightly, grabbing the tray. The knight rolled his eyes and sat at the far side of the fire. “Urgh – what do you think that is? Meat?”

“I don’t care what it is!” Rowena snapped. She grabbed a bite out of it – it was disgusting. “Maker’s breath!”

“Absolutely repulsive,” Leliana agreed. She glanced over at them and dropped her voice to a murmur. “Just like the way both of you are handling your love lives.”

The two of them started. “This is not my fault!” Rowena hissed. “Tell it to Alistair! He’s acting like a child – a mean child!”

“And I don’t have a love life!” Eruestan hissed as well. “There’s nothing going on between Zevran and me!”

Leliana sighed. “Honestly, Eruestan, do I look stupid to you? I was there last night.”

His ears turned bright red. “Well, then, you saw how he reacted last night. Even if there was anything, I’ve definitely killed it by now.”

“That’s not true,” Leliana said smugly. “I saw the way he looked – like someone slapped him. He didn’t even crack a joke! And have you noticed how quiet he’s been today? If you ask me, I think he’s shocked to find himself actually developing feelings for another person. And in any case, you need to talk to him about it, like an adult!”

Eruestan’s ears were turning shades of colors Rowena had never seen before. “That’s…that’s not…”

“And as for you, Rowena, Alistair _is_ being a brat, but refusing to talk to him isn’t good for either of you,” Leliana continued. “The only reason he is acting out is because he’s terrified, even more than the rest of us. That’s no excuse, of course, but it makes it more understandable, and you’re only going to make it worse for everyone by letting it fester like this.”

“I’m not angry because he’s angry!” she said; her face was getting hot. “I’m angry because he _lied_ to me!”

“Oh, he told me about that,” Leliana said, waving her off. Rowena suddenly felt extremely irritated with her. “That wasn’t so much a lie as withholding the truth. Besides, no one’s ever accused him of being the sharpest person out there, he probably _did_ forget to say anything. You should talk to him about that, too.”

Rowena looked ahead into the fire, trying to keep herself calm. “I’m not doing that.”

“Neither am I,” Eruestan said quietly.

 “Right, let’s _not_ listen to the trained seductress and expert on interpersonal communication.” The two Wardens remained silent. Leliana sighed. “Look, do what you like – honestly, I think both of them can act just like overgrown children. But they seem to make both of you happy, and even if they don’t, not talking about your problems with someone you’ve cared about is just asking for more pain and anger than anyone needs.” More silence. “Am I on the exile list, too, now?” Nothing. “Ugh. Fine. You’re all such _babies_.”

She turned around and started eating by herself. Rowena stroked Cormac gently, letting herself relax as she stared at the flames. She had made the right decision, hadn’t she? She had made the _only_ decision. How could Alistair betray her like this?

Eruestan nudged her side. “Do you think I’m being stupid?”

She glanced over at him and shrugged. “You made yourself pretty clear last night. I think the ball’s in Zevran’s court now.”

He looked back into the fire. “Did you notice he wasn’t wearing the belt?”

She sighed. “Maker, we’re depressing.”

Eruestan snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“What are you two nugfuggers whisperin’ about?” Oghren slurred, stumbling up to them. “Ain’t about me, is it?”

Eruestan looked at him in wonder. “Are you seriously already drunk? How is that possible?”

“It’s the fear, puts an extra edge on your ale.” He looked over at Wynne, who was propped up against a rock only a few paces away. “Huh. You don’t look so hot, Big Tits. You hate walkin’ that much?”

Even in her drained state, Wynne was able to shoot him a withering look. “Almost as much as I hate being called ‘Big Tits’, you revolting little man.”

“Leave her alone, Oghren,” Rowena said. “You’re being gross.”

“‘Tis his natural condition, I think,” Morrigan said.

“Oh, can it, Yellow Eyes,” Oghren belched. “You’ll warm up to me – everyone always does.”

Morrigan’s glare was even more frightening that Wynne’s. “You can start by setting yourself on fire.”

“Eh, sod it.” He plopped himself down between Wynne and Eruestan and scratched his head. “Stone’s sake, I’m beat. Hey, BT, you, uh, you mind if I catch a quick nap right here? Because I’m gettin’ pretty—” He fell asleep mid-sentence, his head falling into Wynne’s lap.

She looked so affronted she could hardly speak. “Ugh! The nerve – this _horrible_ —I can’t— _will someone get him off me_?”

“I’ll do it,” Leliana sighed, rising to her feet. “Honestly, Zevran, the fact that we’ve got someone worse than _you_ traveling with us is really—Wynne?” Her voice had gotten sharp; Rowena looked up immediately. “Are you all right? Wynne? What’s going on?”

Rowena looked over at Wynne and jumped to her feet. The mage’s eyes were flickering with a bright blue light.

“Andraste’s ass!” Eruestan was by her side in an instant, throwing Oghren off her lap. “Wynne! Are you all right? What’s happening?”

“I’m…I’m fine…” Rowena clutched her sword as Cormac began to snarl. Whatever had just spoken was not Wynne’s voice. “I just…need to…”

Oghren tried to nustle his head back into her lap. “Mmmm...soft…”

There was a strange keening sound, a flash of blue light, and suddenly Oghren was flying across the cavern, landing halfway between the fire and a tunnel leading to the north.

“What the hell’s going on?” Captain Olga barked. She had marched up to the fire with the rest of the Legion, eyes flashing. “I said no bleeding magic down in the Roads!”

“She’s not doing it on purpose, I promise,” Eruestan said desperately. “Please, we just need to—”

All of a sudden, the flashing stopped, and Wynne’s eyes returned to normal. She blinked, swayed gently, and then collapsed to one side. Rowena’s heart almost stopped. “Is she…is she dead?” she whispered.

Leliana checked her pulse. “She’s still breathing,” she said in relief. “Whatever that was, the worst should be over – provided she didn’t kill Oghren.”

The Legion, however, had drawn their weapons. “Guess again, Rockhead,” Olga growled, staring at the ceiling. “We’re about to have company.”

Rowena was about to ask what she meant. Then, everyone froze. A strange rustling had filled the cavern, accompanied by some sort of clicking. As the noise grew, so did its echo, until the sound became deafening. Rowena slowly drew her weapon and followed Olga’s gaze. She was looking at a tunnel near the top of the cavern wall opposite them. It was small, dark, and unlike the rest of the Roads did not appear to be manmade. None of the bridges spanning the crossroads led to it. Rowena squinted and stepped closer to it, trying to ignore the growing dread in her stomach. As she did so, a large shadow fell from the tunnel.

Another shadow followed, and then another, and another, until a shower of shadows was falling to the cavern floor. Dima swore loudly next to her, and Cormac howled as Rowena’s heart rate picked up. Speeding across the stone towards them was a swarm of spiders, each as tall as her hound and three times as wide.

Behind her, Eruestan moaned and flared a ball of lightning in his hand. “No!” Olga barked, bracing herself for battle. “Get that woman out of here! Dima, take the recruits and the Wardens out the Varda Road and to the Ortan patrol!”

“Yes, ser!” Dima shouted, grabbing Rowena’s arm. “Grab them and let’s go!”

Everything was happening too quickly. Sten threw Wynne over his back and began running; the others followed suit. Rowena was about to do the same when she glanced over to the crumpled dwarf lying halfway across the floor. “Eruestan,” she said. “We have to go save Oghren.”

He looked terrified. “You’re right,” he squeaked. “Let’s go.” The others were running ahead; even Cormac was running along beside Leliana and Zevran, howling wildly. Clashes of metal and horrible screaming was starting to come from behind them. “There’s too many of them,” she gasped, looking over to Eruestan. “There’s only 15 Legionnaires.”

The elf’s eyes were wide. “Oh Maker, oh Maker, oh Maker, oh Maker, oh Maker—”

They finally reached Oghren, who was stirring gently on the ground. Rowena threw him over her shoulder; he was far heavier than she had anticipated. Knees buckling for a moment, she quickly corrected herself and started running diagonally after the others. They were going too slow, however, and the sounds of combat were getting fainter behind them. “Eruestan,” she panted, “g-go…hurry, we’ll…catch up…”

He didn’t say anything. She glanced over at him and realized that he was too panicked to think clearly. Cormac was howling again, starting to come back after her now that he’d noticed that he’d gone on without her. Suddenly the clicking behind them grew incredibly loud – she almost screamed, before she realized that the spiders were racing past them to get to Wynne.

There were too many of them – there was no way they could fight them off, not without more men at their side. Poor Beomar was directly in their path, running as fast as he could to the tunnels. She turned her head as one spider pounced on him, its pincers poised. There was a loud shriek, and then silence. “Oh, Sweet Andraste,” she said, eyes closed. “They’re going to kill us.”

Before that thought could sink in, Eruestan screamed something in Tevinter. There was a great rush of hot air, a flash of bright light, and then a giant explosion that shook the floor. She opened her eyes in shock. Everything had frozen. The spiders were transfixed by Eruestan’s spell, and the others were watching the smoke clear from where his fireball had hit the tallest bridge. The sound of something falling apart began to echo in the cavern. Rowena moaned softly as the bridges above them began to collapse, raining giant boulders down on top of them.

The first landed in the middle of the spider horde, sending massive shockwaves throughout the cavern. Eruestan looked stunned as he stared at the next one, pummeling down onto his head. Rowena dropped Oghren and screamed, grabbing her friend around his waist and throwing him out of harm’s way. She hunched over him, eyes closed as she waited for impact. It didn’t come. _This is it,_ she thought. _We’ve been killed._

She opened her eyes and blinked. The boulder was hovering less than an inch above their heads, surrounded by a blue light. In fact, the whole cavern was surrounded in blue light: every person, rock, and spider. She stood up slowly; it was like moving through water. Eruestan rose unsteadily beside her, eyes locked on Wynne.

The mage was standing once again, her eyes and mouth emanating blue light. Her arms were outstretched, levitating the section of bridge that had threatened to kill the entire party in one blow. She stared at it for a moment, radiating enough power to make the hair on Rowena’s arms stand up. Then, with a terrible shriek that came from somewhere beyond the Fade, she threw her arms up in the air.

Rowena was jolted into the air a few feet, landing hard on her knees. With a crash like thunder the rocks slammed into the cavern ceiling, and the blue light vanished in a flash. She didn’t wait around to figure out what that meant. “Eruestan!” she yelled, grabbing Oghren once more. “Get to that tunnel ahead of us! Now!”

She didn’t even look to see if he had agreed. She began running as fast she could, not towards the others, but towards the road that Oghren had been thrown to. The ground was starting to shake as the rocks began to make contact with the earth. Eruestan shouted something at her side, and there was a blast of dirt above them. She closed her eyes and continued to run forward. They were almost there – almost safe – just a few more steps…

A giant boulder landed right behind them, propelling them forward and sealing off the tunnel entrance. She landed head first, cracking her skull against a rock. All three of them lay unconscious as the dust began to settle and the screams faded outside the tunnel. None of that mattered, however. For now, they were safe.

* * *

 Alistair was lying on the ground. Cormac was howling and barking, running up and down the sealed passage. Leliana walked over to them quickly, her heart racing as she tried to hush the hound. The knight slowly sat up, blinking as the dust cleared. The tunnel entrance was completely blocked by boulders; someone’s arm was lying exposed barely a foot away from him. “Who is that?” he said, shrinking back. “Is anyone missing?”

“It’s Dima,” Leliana whispered, crouching down beside him. She and Zevran pulled him to his feet; both their faces were covered in dust. “He made sure everyone got through, but…”

Alistair leaned against the cavern wall. Crystals lit up the ceiling and the passage, providing just enough light to make everyone out. His eyes fell on Wynne, who was lying unconscious at Sten’s feet. “What happened?” he asked quietly, placing a hand on Cormac’s head. “What was that?”

“It was a cave-in,” Dagmar said. “Your friend’s spell brought the whole place down.”

“I don’t mean the cave-in,” he said. “I mean with Wynne.”

Leliana took a step forward; she didn’t like the look on his face. “Don’t,” she said quickly. “She’s…she’s not well, Alistair, that amount of magic almost killed her—”

“That wasn’t magic!” The others fell silent as he started to breathe heavily. “I know what mages can do – I know what to look for! We all saw what happened at the Tower -- whatever the hell happened, Wynne wasn’t behind it!”

Leliana found herself entering a very calm state, the one she used to enter during the most dangerous of her missions as a bard. “What are you saying, Alistair?”

“He is saying that Wynne is an Abomination,” Morrigan said, stepping next to Leliana. “She is a danger, a threat, and she may have killed Rowena and Eruestan.”

“Don’t say that,” Zevran said suddenly, making everyone look over at him. He stared coldly back at them.

“It’s true, though,” Alistair snapped. “Look at what she did! She’s dangerous!”

“She saved our lives!” Leliana said.

“And she put us at risk,” Sten said. “Whatever is happening to her, she cannot control it.”

“So…so what are you saying?” Leliana’s hand was resting on her dagger hilt. “You just want to kill her?”

“No,” Morrigan said. Leliana blinked in surprise. “There is no need for that.”

“Yes, there is!” Alistair said. His voice trembled, and Leliana could tell he was on the brink of panicking. “We have enough trying to kill us down here – we can’t let our feelings distract us from the fact that an Abomination could kill us, too! If Eruestan or Rowena knew about this—”

“They did,” Morrigan said.

Everyone was silent for a moment. “What?”

“Wynne told Eruestan,” she said. “And I figured it out on my own and told Rowena. They were both waiting to see what would happen to her before they made any decisions.”

Alistair’s face was faltering. “And we’re…we’re just supposed to believe that?”

“I do,” Leliana said. “Alistair, think about it! Wynne has been a friend to us for months! If she was going to harm anyone, she would have done it by now.”

“Something tells me that thing isn’t under control, Leliana.”

“We don’t know that,” she said. “I won’t let anyone hurt Wynne, not before she can explain herself.”

“Nor will I,” Morrigan said, crossing her arms.

Zevran stepped up next to them. “Nor I,” he said quietly.

For a moment, Leliana thought Alistair was going to resist them. Then, to her surprise, he broke down in front of them. “I’m sorry,” he said, pinching his nose. “I’m sorry. This has just—it’s been—I’ve—”

“It’s all right,” Leliana said, placing a hand on his arm. Beside them, Cormac nestled his head under Alistair’s arm, whining slightly. “We understand.”

“We all need to figure out what we’re doing,” Dagmar said. Out of all of them, she looked the most calm. “The last person capable of guiding us is dead, and now we’re stranded in the largest labyrinth in all of Thedas.”

“We need to find Eruestan,” Zevran said. His face was very still, and suddenly Leliana realized that he could actually be very frightening.

“And Rowena,” Alistair said, calming himself down. “We need to find Rowena and Eruestan. I know they made it to that tunnel – she’s still alive, I can feel it.”

Even this deep under the earth, trapped by fallen rocks and chased by giant spiders, Leliana couldn’t help but feel giddy about the displays of romance playing out right in front of her. “We’ll find them,” she said firmly. “So long as we take tunnels leading to the north, we’ll run into them.”

“I can make sure of that,” Dagmar said. “More importantly, what are we going to do about her?” She gestured to Wynne, who still had yet to move.

They all looked at each other uneasily. “We should rest for now, anyways,” Leliana said. “Hopefully she’ll be awake by the time we’re ready to move on.”

“And if she wakes up while we’re sleeping?” Sten asked. “What will keep her from attacking us?”

“This will,” Zevran said quietly. He pulled a beautifully engraved leather belt out from under his tunic. Leliana almost gasped in delight. “Restrain her arms with this, and put her on her side. It’s only leather, but it might confuse her when she wakes up. It’ll give us a minute to react, at least.”

Alistair did so, turning her gently on her side. He stood up slowly, hands in his hair. “What are we going to do?” he asked softly.

Leliana walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to find them,” she said firmly. “But now, we need to rest.”

 


	37. On the Roads

Rowena woke with a gasp.

She was lying face down in the stone. Her forehead stung sharply from where it was pressed against the ground; she picked herself up and looked around, blinking dust from her eyes. They were in a small tunnel lit softly by crystals on the ceiling and walls. Her head was still throbbing – she patted at it and cringed gently at the slight jolt of pain. She sat still for a moment and tried to remember what had happened. There had been the spiders, and the collapse…and then a terrible dream, one she had already forgotten. The whispering inside her head had become a hum, both lilting and suffocating.

Someone stirred beside her. A moment later, Eruestan sat up, dirt smeared across his face. “I dreamt…I dreamt I was being eaten alive,” he said.

Rowena pressed her hand against her wound. “I think it almost happened in real life.”

“Rowena, you’re hurt.” He stood up shakily and placed a hand on her forehead. “Here, let me...”

She jerked back. “Don’t.”

“Shut up,” he said tersely, and for a moment all she could see was blue light. The wound flashed with heat, and then became cool. “With all that magic in that cave, anything that it would have drawn in would have been here by now.” He ended the spell and dropped to his knees. “It was all my fault,” he said. “I panicked – I meant to hit the spiders, not the bridge…I-I nearly…I might have killed everyone…”

“Don’t say that,” she said. “They were all standing by that tunnel’s entrance – I’m sure they made it in. If anything, I think you saved us. You saw how shaken everyone was – we weren’t prepared, and there were too many of those things. They could have torn everyone to shreds.”

He shuddered. “Maker…I – Beomar, did you see? They just…it was too much, Rowena. After the Roads, after all that darkness, and then the spiders…”

Rowena grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it while he shivered. After a few moments he stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I must look like an idiot.”

“Don’t be silly, Eruestan,” she said. “Everyone in that cave panicked – you saw the Legion, they collapsed in a second, and they’re supposed to be the best warriors in Orzammar. Faced with that kind of fear, anyone would have cracked.”

He looked at her a little sheepishly. “You didn’t crack.”

She tried to force a smile, ignoring the shiver down her back. “Yeah, well, I have an almost inhuman ability to ignore fear, so…”

Someone groaned right beside them, making them both jump. “Bleedin’ nug tits,” Oghren moaned, sitting up and clutching his head. “What did I drink last night?”

“Oh, great, you’re alive,” Rowena said. “Our luck just gets better and better, doesn’t it?”

“Hey, we’ll take whatever victory we can get,” Eruestan said. “Don’t you remember anything from last night, Oghren? About Wynne and the spiders?”

Oghren frowned at them and scratched his beard. “Big Tits is a spider?”

Rowena and Eruestan both snorted. “Speaking of Wynne, what happened to her?” Rowena asked. “Do you think that was the spirit?”

Eruestan nodded. “Unfortunately, I don’t know how it works – I don’t even know what kind it is. I knew she was getting worse under the surface – it might be because of the Taint, I’m not sure. Still, I have no idea where that outburst came from. The Tower taught us how to identify a possession, not how to live with one.”

She sighed. “They’re really against teaching you anything useful at that Tower, aren’t they?”

He smiled. “I’m worried, though. I’ve never seen that kind of power before – no matter how strong the spirit supporting Wynne is, it must have used a lot of energy to do what it did. That might have killed her – if it didn’t, I’m pretty sure that with all his training Alistair will be able to realize what she is. And in that case…”

“He might try to attack her,” Rowena finished. A chill went down her spine. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Eruestan shrugged helplessly. “If he hasn’t cracked, sure – the Alistair we know would never hurt Wynne, I know that. But you know how much this place scares him… In any case, I can’t imagine the others would let anything happen to her – unless they have to, that is.” He shuddered again and turned to Oghren. “How are you feeling, at least? You must have hit your head fairly hard if you don’t remember anything about what happened.”

The dwarf shrugged. “The way I see it, ain’t a good night if you can remember more than half of it. Where in the nug nuts are we, though, and what are we gonna do?”

Rowena and Eruestan glanced at each other. “The cave-in blocked us off from the others,” she said. “They went to the tunnel in that end of the cave. So long as we can try to head off to that direction, we should run into them.”

“So east, then,” Oghren said. The other two stared at him. “It’s my Stone sense,” he muttered. “I’m rusty, but I can lead us in the right direction. No sayin’ what’s waitin’ for us down this tunnel, though.”

“Something tells me it won’t be a warm bath and some cakes,” Rowena said. “We should get moving – the sooner we can find the others, the better.”

The men nodded and began to follow her down the tunnel. She grasped her sword and peered into the distance before her, following Oghren’s cue to go to the right. Wherever the others were, they better find them soon.

* * *

 One day into their trek, Leliana decided she had been in worse places.

Granted, the Roads were terribly cold, and dark, with no end in sight it was easy to let your thoughts wander to unpleasant places. Still, there was no denying their majesty. Most of the passages were lined in statuary and graffiti, and from Dagmar’s translations she was beginning to have a deeper understanding of dwarven culture. There were tales of mighty kings and queens, of battles lost and won, all mixed in with cruder ads for nug meat, fresh ale, and where to go if you were looking for a good time. The Roads themselves were quiet, however, with only the faint scratching of creatures in front of and behind them to keep them company. In the end, she rather liked this part of the Deep Roads. They were better than the cotillions at Madame Dantine’s summer estate, in any case.

All the same, after a whole day they had come no closer to finding Rowena, Eruestan, or any of Paragon Branka’s party. “I think we might have to seriously consider the idea that they’re dead,” Dagmar said as they laid out camp for the night. “We should start focusing on finding the rest of the Legion.”

Cormac started to growl; Leliana scratched his head. “They are not dead,” she said firmly. “I think we should still keep looking. Weren’t you saying yesterday that our tunnels were taking us higher in the earth? They probably passed right below us.”

“That may be true,” Dagmar said. “If anything, though, that just means we’re getting farther and farther away from them.”

“We will find them,” Zevran said quietly. “We need to give Wynne water – will anyone help me?”

“I will,” Leliana said. She knelt by the mage’s head and frowned. Wynne had been unconscious since the cave-in; under normal circumstances, that would have been fatal. However, whatever was possessing her seemed to be keeping her alive – according to what Morrigan could tell, at least. Leliana tilted her head back and let Zevran pour drops of water in her mouth. Sten had been carrying her through the Roads; though he had not complained, Leliana knew that he had to be exhausted. “We need to figure out how to wake her up,” she said. “Even if it means she might attack us – otherwise she might starve.”

“There’s not much any of us can do for her,” Alistair said. He had kept quiet for most of the day, looking after Cormac and guarding their rear approach. He looked over to Morrigan. “Are you sure there’s no special type of magic that could help?”

The witch frowned. “If I could think of anything, I would have told you. Anything I do know would require a great deal of energy, more than I have access to alone.”

“Hopefully we can find Eruestan soon, then,” he said. “Until then, Sten and I can take turns supporting Wynne. We’ve got another important issue, though – we’re running low on food and water.”

“Food shouldn’t be too difficult,” Dagmar said. “There are a large number of mushrooms that grow down here, it’s just a matter of choosing the right ones.”

The knight frowned. “Why, what happens if you choose wrong?”

She shrugged. “Your lungs get ripped to shreds and you drown in your own blood.”

Alistair looked thoroughly defeated. “We should have stayed in that prison.”

“Don’t worry, I know which kinds to eat,” she said. “As for water, though, that’ll be trickier. Finding it is completely random out here – if we’re lucky, we’ll run into it often enough that we won’t die from thirst.”

“Good thing we’re known for having good luck,” Sten said.

“Hey, Sten, nothing’s killed us yet,” Leliana said. She then paused. “I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

“In my experience, optimism can keep a person alive for far longer than a full set of supplies,” Dagmar said, sitting down. “All the same, we should eat.”

Leliana nodded and sat down next to her, grabbing the hard bread that the dwarf had pulled from her provisions bag. “I never thought I’d be this happy to see a piece of bread this stale.”

“You should see what they give us in the army,” Dagmar said. “You could break your teeth on it.”

Leliana perked up at the prospect of a good story. “You were in the army?”

She nodded. “Bit of a joke, really. They hardly ever send us out here, mainly because they’re afraid they’d lose everyone. The one time we did leave, though, I managed to save my commanding officer from being smashed to bits by a hurlock’s hammer. Brought a lot of attention and fame to my family…but it also gave me more of a reputation as a fighter than I deserve.”

“You seem competent enough,” Sten said.

“I’m a good soldier – I’m not a good show pony.” She stared down at the ground. “Harrowmont should have never put me in the arena, and I should never have agreed. Didn’t want to disappoint my family, that’s all – look where that got me.” She shrugged and finished her bread. “None of that matters now, though. I’m already dead, and if we’re not careful you all will be too before long. You should all get some rest – I’ll take the first watch.”

Leliana watched her sit down in front of them, facing the long empty tunnel stretching out into darkness. The air echoed ominously around them; her jaw ached as she crunched down on her bread, sending a shiver down her spine. _Still better than Madame Dantine’s_ , she thought grimly to herself.

* * *

 Rowena’s waterskin was almost empty.

“I don’t want to keep repeating myself,” she said as they settled down to camp on the middle of a bridge connecting two tunnels, “but we’ve stretched our rations out as far as they can go. If we don’t find anything to drink tomorrow, we’re going to be in a pretty shaky situation.”

“We’re already in a pretty shaky situation,” Eruestan said grimly. “Literally, if this bridge doesn’t prove to be as sturdy as we think it is.”

She sighed. “I’m telling you, it’s a good idea. This way, if anything comes at us from either side, we just run in the opposite direction and destroy the bridge.” She paused. “Unless, of course, something attacks us from _both_ sides.”

He sighed. “Oh, whatever. At the very least we have food.”

Rowena looked down at the deepstalker Oghren was slowly pounding into a pulp. “As far as that counts as food, sure.”

“It’s food, all right,” the dwarf grumbled. “May not look pretty, but beat anythin’ with a rock and it’ll start looking like food.”

On any other day, she wouldn’t have been convinced. Even before it had been mashed, the beast had been far from appetizing. The deepstalker was the size of a lapdog, with tiny arms, a long tail, and nastily sharp teeth and claws. In her hunger, though, even its purée form was starting to look very tasty. “I’m just glad they didn’t swarm us.”

“This one was probably a straggler,” Oghren said. “Don’t like huntin’ alone. Now, Twinkler, if you don’t mind...”

Eruestan looked over the immense space of the cavern and bit his lip. “Are we _sure_ we want to do this? Look at what happened the last time we used magic.”

“Hey, if you want to eat this raw, be my guest,” Oghren said. “I just figured the two of you don’t have much experience shoving underground meat into your mouths.”

Rowena turned to the elf. “Eruestan, please cast the spell.”

The mage sighed and snapped his fingers. A small flame popped up under the deepstalker meat; a few minutes later, they had all gingerly grabbed a different part of its body.

“Well, this is…vile,” Eruestan said, pinching his nose. “Ugh – Maker’s breath – what’s that smell? Is that from the meat?”

A putrid, sickly-sweet scent was filling the air around them. “It’s not always a picnic down here,” Oghren said. “Dig in.”

They ate in silence, each choking down the rancid meat. Rowena stared out over the bridge during the meal. There was a spectacular view of an enormous cavern stretching out beneath them. Bridges and roads criss-crossed the entire area; she wondered how many carried something that wanted to kill them.

“That was really disgusting,” Eruestan said, spitting out the last of his portion. “I’m never taking food for granted again.”

Oghren handed him his waterskin. “Here, wash the taste out with this.”

“You still have water? Thanks, I’ll only take a – _ugh_!” He spat over the side of the bridge, retching slightly. “Oghren! Is there ale in this?”

“What else would it be?”

“How do you still have ale left?” Rowena asked. “I thought you drank it all on the first day?”

Oghren coughed awkwardly and looked out over the bridge; the same idea occurred to Rowena and Eruestan at the same time. “ _No_!” the elf groaned, retching even harder. “Oghren, please, _please_ tell me you did not urinate into your—”

“Well, I’m gonna call it a night,” the dwarf said loudly, stretching out on the stone. “You two take the first watch – wake me up in two hours.”

He started snoring; Rowena and Eruestan sat back to back, each fighting off exhaustion. “So,” she said, “how are you feeling?”

“I just drank Oghren’s piss,” he said bitterly. “What do you think?”

“Right.” She bit her lip, trying to think of something else to say. “You really think this bridge is going to collapse?”

“Rowena, please stop saying that, with our luck it’ll just make the bridge weaker.” He sighed. “That’d be some end – falling to my death alone in the middle of the Deep Roads.”

“Hey, I’m still here – you’d be so lucky to die with me.” She winked at him. “Besides, even if it does happen, just wave your hands about and save the day like you normally do.”

Eruestan shook his head. “No, to be honest, I probably couldn’t use magic.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean, if the choice is between ‘falling to our deaths’ and ‘possibly attracting a deadly animal’, I think it’s reasonable to hedge our bets and opt for magic…”

“That’s not what I mean,” he said. “If I could, I would, but I wouldn’t have that kind of strength. Stopping someone from falling with that kind of momentum takes a ton of power – I don’t have it. I doubt anyone does.”

“Wynne did,” she pointed out.

“That was the spirit. Which means it’s a powerful spirit – a _very_ powerful spirit.” He sighed. “I’ve really screwed everyone over by not saying anything about her, didn’t I?”

She shrugged and stared out over the bridge again. It seemed silly to her that magic would have limits; after seeing what it could do, magic looked invincible. “What does it feel like?”

“To have screwed everyone over? Not great.”

“What?” she asked. “No, I mean, what does magic feel like?”

He glanced over at her and frowned. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged again. “Like, when you’re casting it? Does it hurt? Can you feel it take a lot of energy out of you?”

He thought for a moment. “It depends on the type of magic,” he said slowly. “It all starts the same, like a gentle buzzing in your stomach. Once you start to direct it, though, it changes. The power in magic’s all about concentration – if you want fire, think hot, ice, think cold. The words and the hand movements are just about channeling that power into what you want.”

“Sounds difficult.”

“And dangerous, especially when you’re first starting out,” he said. “Someone I knew once gave himself some pretty nasty burns trying to get the energy for his first fire spell.” He shook his head. “Releasing a spell is really satisfactory, but it does take something out of you. Like finishing a sprint, or setting down something heavy. Do that enough and you get exhausted.”

“It must be nice, though,” she said. “Having that power at your fingertips. Never really feeling helpless.”

He laughed. “Are you kidding me? Helplessness is pretty much the only thing I _ever_ feel. And since when do you feel helpless?”

She smiled, a chill going down her back at the thought of the blackness they had seen the day before. “Fair enough.”

“Hey, wanna know what I’m feelin’?” Oghren growled. “I’m feelin’ like some prissy topsiders need to shut up and let a man get his sleep!”

The two glanced at each other. “Sorry, Oghren,” Eruestan said. “We’ll be quiet.”

“Good,” he said, rolling back over. “Friggin’ topsiders…”

Rowena winked at Eruestan, secretly glad that their conversation was over. That kind of talk could be saved for another time.

Instead, she decided to look out over the cavern. It amazed her how bright parts of the Deep Roads were, even after centuries of disuse. Looking at all the bridges and tunnels, she was able to fully appreciate the strength the Dwarven empire must have had at its height. It made her wonder what people would say about Ferelden after the country vanished from the earth – if it ever would. She loved Ferelden, but she had to admit that it had nothing quite as impressive as this; even Orlais had her homeland outmatched. In any case, it was odd thinking about the future, if the future ever did come about. _I guess we have to survive all of this before I can start considering that_ , she thought, shifting her position slightly.

That was when she heard it – a quiet skittering, somewhere in the distance. “What was that?” she said sharply, sitting up.

Eruestan had already climbed to his feet. “Knowing this place, nothing good,” he said, his ears twitching. “Where do you think it came from?”

She shrugged, standing up next to him. “A tunnel?”

Eruestan snorted. “Very specific.”

“Hey, at least I’m right.” She drew her sword and nudged their other companion with her foot. “Oghren, get up,” she said. “We might have company.”

The dwarf started and blinked at them. “Soddin’ thunderhumpers,” he muttered, climbing to his feet. “This better be important – I was havin’ one of the good dreams, where I don’t even have to ask for it.”

Rowena sighed and kept looking at the tunnel in front of her. “There’s something moving out there,” she said. “I think it’s coming from this way.”

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, tensed and ready for battle. Sure enough, the skittering was getting louder. “I really hate this place,” Oghren grumbled. “If it’s a darkspawn, I call dibs.”

A moment later, something scurried into view. It was a deepstalker, its beady little eyes glaring at them from the tunnel entrance.

Oghren relaxed his hammer. “Are you kiddin’ me? All that for a soddin’ stalker?”

As soon as he said that, another deepstalker joined the first one, then another, then another. Before long, a whole swarm had gathered around the tunnel entrance. “All right, no big deal,” Rowena said, keeping her voice even. “Let’s just back up into the first tunnel and blow this bridge up.”

“Um, about that,” Eruestan said tensely at her back. She glanced over her shoulder to see that another swarm had gathered at the other end of the bridge. “What was that about being attacked on both sides?”

“All right, so not one of my better ideas,” Rowena said. “How bad is it now, Oghren?”

The dwarf had retightened his grip. “We might need to change our pants.”

“Ok, let’s stop this nonsense,” Eruestan said, stepping in front of them. He held out his hands and threw out a magical dome that pulsated between them and the beasts. This had two effects: first, the bridge began to shake beneath them, and then the swarm began to go into a frenzy.

Rowena watched in disgust as the stalkers began to dive at the barrier, their claws slashing at the air as they bounced off and came back for more. “This is…gross. Eruestan, can’t you blast them off?”

“Normally, I would,” the elf said with gritted teeth. “Now, however, I’m worried that if I cast anything stronger than this our bridge is going to collapse.”

“Ok, I got it, the bridge camp was a bad idea, no need to be a dick.” She started to look around, trying to find a different way out. “So you know how you said you couldn’t stop a fall with magic?”

“Yep,” he said, focusing on the shield. “Still true.”

“How do you feel about propulsion?” He glanced at her in confusion; she pointed to a spot below them. “There’s a tunnel down there, a little to the right. We should be able to reach it with a bit of a push.”

Eruestan looked horrified. “Rowena, I’ve never done that before.”

“Well, your other options are falling to your death when the bridge collapses or staying here forever with the stalker herd,” she said. “You decide.”

He sighed and nodded. “Just help me aim, please.”

She turned to look at the dwarf. “How do you feel about this, Oghren?”

“Yeah, sure,” he spat. “Nothing a dwarf likes more than flying through the air.”

She nodded and linked her arm through his before linking her other arm around Eruestan’s waist. “Everyone ready?” she asked.

“As ready as I’ll every be,” Eruestan said, furrowing his brow in concentration.

“Just get it over with,” Oghren said.

“All right, then,” Rowena said. “On three…two…one!”

Eruestan thrust out his arms and pushed the stalker herd back. The bridge trembled again; before the deepstalkers could leap up a second time, he had flung his arms out behind them. There was a blast, as if something had exploded, and suddenly they were flying through the air. Rowena held the two men tightly in her grip, trying to direct the three of them towards the rapidly approaching tunnel. The bridge behind them had begun to collapse, yet before they knew it they had crashed into the earth of the new cave. Picking herself up, Rowena turned around and stared at the wreckage behind them. The bridge was gone, and the few stalkers remaining up above were trying to jump after them, all falling to their deaths in the attempt. “Well,” Eruestan said, sitting up. “If I ever want to break a bone in the future, at least now I know I can do that.”

Rowena snorted and looked around at the new tunnel they were in. It was darker than the one they had left; somehow, it seemed even more abandoned than the rest of the Roads. “Where do you think this leads?” she asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Oghren snarled. “Now I’m gettin’ some sleep. Don’t wake me up again.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Eruestan said. “Do you mind taking the first watch on your own?”

She shook her head. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

Eruestan settled down on the dirt and closed his eyes. Rowena was left to look out on the Roads, wondering what the next day would bring.

* * *

 There were two golems lining the entrance to the Ortan Thaig.

The group stared at them in quiet awe. They were twice the size of Sten and almost four times as wide, with bulging arms all built in stone. Crystals grew out of the gaps and cracks in the rock, and each carried a giant steel warhammer. They were terrifying to look at; however, neither was moving. Instead, both their heads were slumped against their chests, locked in quiet slumber.

“Are they…what, dead?” Alistair whispered, clutching the hilt of his sword. Cormac growled at them softly at his side.  “Can statues die? Is that the word you use?”

“I’m not up-to-date on the terminology,” Dagmar said, “but I do know that these two haven’t moved in a few ages. They’ve guarded the thaig for as long as anyone can remember. If they’re still conscious, they can’t be thrilled about it.”

 “They’re so large,” Leliana said. “How on earth were they able to move?”

“I don’t know,” Dagmar admitted. “A Shaper might have a better idea, though I think we lost most of our knowledge about them with Caridin.”

“I imagine Wynne would know,” Zevran said quietly.

“Are you sure the Legionnaires will know how to help her?” Leliana asked. Wynne was still cradled in Sten’s arms, eyes closed. She had not stirred in three days, and though her breathing was steady they were beginning to worry that she would starve to death.

“Like I said, I have no idea,” Dagmar said. “Dwarves don’t normally have to deal with spirit-possessed women. But if anyone knows how to handle mage issues down here, it’ll be them. Let’s just hope the Ortan patrol is still somewhere around this thaig.”

They walked carefully under the golems’ arms, each subconsciously holding their breath. Soon they had stepped out onto a large plaza gently lit with blue light. Ortan Thaig was much smaller than Orzammar, nothing more than a small group of buildings huddled in the middle of a cave, yet it still held a certain ethereal beauty. Lining the walls above them were streaks of a gently glowing mineral that pulsed in the darkness, sending shivers down Leliana’s spine. _That’s funny_ , she thought as the tremors continued. _It’s not even_ that _pretty…_

Then she noticed that her hands were twitching.

She frowned. “What’s going on—Maker’s breath, Zevran, your nose!”

A thin stream of blood had started dripping from the elf’s nose as his eyes darted across the cavern roof. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly, still looking up. “Just…I’m just…I am just… _santo Creatore_ , am I the only one who’s hot in here?”

“‘T-t-tis l-lyrium,” Morrigan said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “‘T-tis a g-g-great d-deal of l-l-lyrium…”

“Ortan Thaig was once a successful lyrium mine,” Dagmar said. “That’s where the light is coming from.”

She was about to say something more. Before she could, however, Wynne jolted in Sten’s arms and shrieked loudly.

Everyone reacted at once. As the others drew their weapons, Sten set her down gently before leaping back a few paces and pulling out his own greatsword. Wynne panted for a moment, staring at them wildly, before falling over to one side.

Leliana wasn’t sure if her heart was racing more from fear or from the lyrium. Regardless, she ran to Wynne, dropping her bow. “Wynne! Are you all right?”

“Water,” the mage croaked. Her face was still pale, but there was no sound of the spirit in her voice. “I need water.”

“Water!” Leliana cried. “Someone get some water!” The others looked confused, their weapons still drawn. “Don’t just stand there! Get her something!”

“I shall do it,” Morrigan said, dropping her staff. “There is a pool over there…”

“I doubt it will be safe to drink,” Sten said. “Even a stream would be dangerous, and at least that would be flowing water.”

“We all need water, though,” Zevran said, hand wavering on his dagger. “Either we take our chances with the pool or we die of thirst.”

“And Wynne could be dying right now,” Leliana said urgently. “Someone do something!”

“Will the water be poisoned?” Alistair asked Dagmar. His hands were shaking as well; Leliana noticed he was unable to keep his eyes off Wynne.

“Not necessarily,” the dwarf said. “At the same time, it is probably infused with lyrium at this point.”

Alistair took a deep breath. “Lyrium could make the spirit even more dangerous.”

“But Wynne needs it!” Leliana said. “Alistair, please!”

No one in the group said anything. Leliana was about to jump up herself, but then stopped, struck with the idea that something awful might happen to Wynne if she left her side. She began to shake; again, whether from the lyrium or the tension she couldn’t say.

It was Wynne, however, who broke the silence. Still managing to look dignified, she slowly pushed herself up, wiping the dirt from her face. “I am fine,” she rasped calmly, folding her hands in her lap. “I am in control. I am also very thirsty. Alistair, be a dear and get me some water, please. I will explain everything afterwards.”

His resistance faded visibly. “Right – right, of course. I’m sorry – I’m so sorry, Wynne!”

“And I am still very thirsty,” she replied. “Water, please.”

As he scrambled over to the pool with Dagmar’s waterskin, the others stood around a little awkwardly. “So...,” Zevran asked, pinching his nosebleed shut. “How are you feeling?”

Wynne glanced at him for a moment, and then turned back to Alistair with a weak smile as he returned with her water. “Thank you,” she said, grabbing the skin. “This will do very – oh!” Her face scrunched up violently as her whole body began to convulse.

“Stone’s teats, it’s happening again,” Dagmar said, steadying her axe. “Brace yourselves!”

Wynne held up a hand and shook her head. “No, no, it’s still me,” she said, sticking out her tongue. “It’s just, _goodness_ , there’s a lot of lyrium in this!”

Leliana’s eyes focused on the water skin, her curiosity suddenly piqued. “Could I try some?”

Wynne shook her head, handing the skin back to Dagmar. “Ingesting something this concentrated for your first time? All your veins would burst.” Blood suddenly appeared on her sleeve; she frowned and dabbed at it. “I certainly hope this isn’t mine…”

“I’mb sowwy,” Zevran said, pressing a hand to his bloodied face. “I am not suwe what is happening to me.”

“Here, take this.” Alistair handed him a rag and turned back to the mage. “Wynne, what’s going on? Are you a…are you an Abomination?”

She sighed. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, I’m afraid. I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

“Don’t worry,” someone said behind them. “We’ve got time.”

They all turned around and started. Emerging from the shadows was a squadron of heavily-tattooed dwarves, each armed to the teeth and carrying a spear that was pointed directly at them.

* * *

 There was a slight edge of panic in thirst that Rowena was just beginning to discover.

Their waterskins had run dry the day before. Now, after a day of stumbling through the empty caverns of the Deep Roads, thirst was clawing at her throat. Her mouth was so dry it made swallowing painful, she could feel her muscles begin to seize and spasm, and her head was slowly starting to spin. Dying like this would be awful, she realized, far worse than falling to a darkspawn’s blade.

Making matters worse, the new tunnel they had found seemed only to lead them farther and farther away from the others. According to Oghren, they were heading north now, following tunnels that hadn’t been touched in centuries. Considering that even the highly-frequented Roads were some of the most dangerous places in Thedas, their prospects didn’t look good.

Needless to say, morale in the group was low. “There has to be some water nearby,” she said, trying to rally her spirits. She could tell that her voice sounded scratchy. “We can set up camp once we find it.”

 “I still don’t see why we can’t drink our own piss,” Oghren rasped.

Eruestan shot him a look. The mage’s eyes were sunken in and his lips were chapped. “First off, because I can say from personal experience that your urine’s disgusting, Oghren. More importantly, drinking urine leads to a build-up in toxins in your kidneys, which would eventually cause them to fail and kill you.”

“How do you know that?” Rowena asked.

He glanced back at her. “The tower did a lot of experimentation on how the body reacts to extreme conditions.”

She grimaced. “Imagine being that poor test subject.”

“Look, you think I give a nug’s ass about my kidneys?” Oghren asked. “They’re already shot with all the drinkin’.”

The elf frowned. “No, that’s your liver.”

“What?”

Eruestan sighed. “It’s basic anatomy, Oghren. The liver processes the brunt of alcohol – it’s your liver you’ve already shot, not your kidneys.” He paused. “Although, to be fair, in your case probably all of your organs have almost disintegrated.”

Oghren shrugged. “Hey, you say ‘potato’, I say ‘potato’.”

Eruestan stared at him. “What?”

“‘Potato, potato’,” he explained. “It’s an expression we have in Dwarven. Means they’re the same damn thing.”

“I know the expression, Oghren,” Eruestan said. “But it’s not ‘potato, potato’, it’s ‘potato, potato’.”

“That’s what I said!”

“No, you’re saying ‘potato, potato.’ The second one should have an ‘ah’ sound – ‘potato, pot _ah_ to.’”

“Why in Stone’s teats would it be that?”

“Well, why would it be ‘potato, potato’? That sounds ridiculous!”

“It’s because it’s the same damn thing! You’re saying ‘potato’, I’m saying ‘potato’, there’s no difference, there you go!”

“What? No, the point is, the pronunciations are different, but they mean the same thing – so even if you’re saying ‘pot _ah_ to’, we’re both talking about potatoes!”

“Who the hell calls it a ‘pot _ah_ to’?”

“I swear to the Maker, the next person who says ‘potato’ is getting left behind to the deepstalkers!” Rowena snapped. They both froze and stared at her; that was when all three of them heard an incredibly beautiful sound.

“Is that…water?” Eruestan whispered, eyes wide.

He was right. Echoing faintly from the end of the tunnel was the sound of rushing water. For a moment all they could do was stare at each other. Then, without saying anything, they all began scrambling down the tunnel, tripping over the floor as they raced closer to that precious sound.

Suddenly they were out of the tunnel, standing on the edge of a giant chasm. For a moment, Rowena couldn’t tell what she was looking at. A large bridge spanned the gap, and for a moment she balked in front of it. Something about the way it was built urged her away, as if trying to warn her about what lay beyond it. Then she saw the waterfall crashing to the ground on the other side.

It was easily the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She started moving forward slowly, almost trancelike, soothed by the song of the water. There was a strange feeling gnawing at her stomach; that must have been the thirst, there was no other way to describe it. They stepped off the bridge onto the other side, ignoring the sludge on the ground, and walked up to the waterfall. “How…how do we drink it?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

“Here,” Eruestan said, stretching out a hand. A stream of water suddenly diverted from the chute, traipsing lazily over to them. All three of them swallowed giant gulps, and for a moment Rowena’s thirst was quenched. Then she was on all fours, gagging violently.

“Maker’s breath!” Eruestan retched. “What’s the matter with it?”

“It’s blighted,” Oghren spat. “These soddin’ tunnels…”

It was the end. Rowena pulled her knees to her chest, biting her lip to keep from crying out. They were going to die, alone in the dark, and the singing in her head would consume her…

She lifted her head without thinking. There was another singing, a real one – only less of a song, more like a chant. It was coming somewhere from within the caverns stretching out before them. There was something ominous about them; they were unlit, and she had the bizarre feeling that something terrible lay beyond them. Still, there was undeniably a voice coming from them. “Do you hear that?” she asked, standing up. “Someone’s in the tunnels!”

Eruestan perked up beside her. “Maybe they have water!”

“And maybe there’s ale!” Oghren said, leaping to his feet. “What are you waiting for?”

Hope fluttering in their chests, they began to make their ways into the caves. The light had gotten dimmer, but their footing was even, and they were still able to make out the way before them. The passage, however, began to get more and more narrow, and soon they were walking in a line. “It’s sloping up,” Rowena called behind to the others. “Careful, the ground is a little slippery.”

The chanting was echoing more loudly, and Rowena was able to hear enough to tell that it was in Dwarven. “Can you tell what they’re saying?” she asked Oghren.

He shook his head. “Not yet – too much echoing.”

“Something’s not right here,” Eruestan said suddenly. “This sludge on the ground is black – and look at the scratches on the walls. These aren’t regular roads.”

“Should we turn around?” Rowena asked, stopping for a moment. “This could be a trap.”

As she stopped, the chanting suddenly sounded much clearer. “ _V pervyy den’ oni prishli, vsekh s soboyu unesli. V den’ vtoroy oni napali i kogo-to pozhevali._ ”

“I know that voice,” Oghren said suddenly. “I don’t know who, but I know that voice.”

“What are they saying?” Rowena asked nervously, climbing up higher.

_“V tretyy den’ yavivshis’ v gosti, doglodali nashi kosti. V den’ chetvyortyy my ikh zhdali i ot strakha umirali.”_

The dwarf had fallen unusually silent. “Oghren?” Eruestan asked.

“You don’t want to know,” he grunted. “Just keep moving forward.”

Rowena glanced back at Eruestan, who shrugged nervously and nodded at her to continue. Hand on her sword, she continued to climb upward, the chanting still ringing in her ears.

 _“V pyatyy den’ k nam zaglyanuli i devchonku umyknuli. V den’ shestoy devchonki krik pryamo v dushu nam pronik.”_ There was something perverse about the chant, a sickly, wheezy quality that hid under the words and seeped through the melody. She couldn’t understand a thing, but there was something horribly wrong about them. “ _V den’ sed’moy ey cherez rot rvotoj vsluchili zhivot. V den’ vosmoy tvar’e igraloc’, nad devchonkoy izdevalos’._ ”

“Sweet Stone,” Oghren said, almost in a whimper. Rowena looked back at him. His face had gone white, and his knuckles were white as they gripped his warhammer.

“Oghren, what’s the matter?” she asked. “What is she saying?”

He didn’t answer, almost as if he didn’t hear her. Heart in her throat, she kept moving forward, dreading what she was about to stumble upon.

 _“V den’ devyatyy devka zlobno stala zhrat’ cebe podobnikh. Vot ona piruet sladko i gotovitsya stat’ matkoy._ ”

 The tunnel wrapped around a bend and then opened up to a small cave, dimly lit by crystals lying in the ceiling overhead. They were no longer alone; someone was hunched over in the center of the cave, chanting to herself as she rocked back and forth. “Hello?” Rowena asked, her voice cutting through a second reiteration of the chant. “Who are you?”

The woman stopped abruptly and turned towards them. Eruestan muttered something behind her and held out his hand. A ball of light floated up to the cave ceiling, giving them a clear look of who they were addressing. In the center of the cave was a young woman glaring at them with mottled eyes, face smeared with blood as she set down the human arm she had been chewing on.

“Maker’s breath,” Eruestan said faintly, the light from his spell flickering slightly.

Rowena drew her sword, pointing it directly at the woman’s face. “Stay back,” she growled. “I’m warning you, I won’t hesitate.”

The woman stared at her for a moment, and then tilted her head eerily. “ _Ogrenshka_ ,” she said in disturbingly high voice, “ _eto ty_?”

“Hespith,” Oghren spat, his hammer trembling slightly in his grasp.

“You know this woman?” Eruestan said, his voice cracking slightly.

Oghren nodded. “She’s my cousin – and Branka’s lover.”

“Oh, my,” Eruestan said. “Branka has weird taste.”

Rowena kept her sword high and gestured to the arm. “Is that Branka?”

Hespith didn’t answer her at first, still staring at her eerily with her empty eyes. “Look at you, so pretty and strong,” she said finally. “They would choose you first.”

“Who would?” Rowena asked sharply. “What are you talking about?”

 The dwarf’s eyes had started to glass over, and suddenly she was chanting again, only in Fereldan this time. “ _First day, they come, and catch everyone. Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat. Third day, the men are all gnawed on again. Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate. Fifth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn. Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams. Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew. Eighth day we hated as she is violated. Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin. Now she does feast, as she’s become the beast_.”

“What does that mean?” Rowena asked. “What are you saying?”

“It’s something about the darkspawn,” Eruestan said in alarm. “I don’t know what, but that has to be it.”

“What happened to you, Heshpa?” Oghren asked. “Where are the others?”

Hespith sat on her knees and smiled at them. “Branka,” she said dreamily. “She let them come. There were traps, and she needed more bait to find all of them. So she threw us in the tunnels, let us breed them, let us make our sacrifice for the good of the Dwarva.”

 “Breed darkspawn,” Eruestan whispered. “How is that possible?”

“She’s obsessed,” Hespith moaned, her smile frozen horribly on her face. “All she could think of was the Forge, we were nothing compared to that. And the screaming won’t stop! It won’t stop.” She grew calm again and picked up the arm once more.

“So she turned on you, too?” Rowena asked, trying to fight the wave of revulsion building in her stomach.

Hespith shook her head, lovingly cradling her prey. “No, no, but she would have. I ran before she had the chance. And then I was lost, with only the shadows and their blood to keep me company.” She shook her head and began to wail. “All these things she’s done – and I let her do them! Blessed Stone, forgive me. Forgive my lack of strength!”

“What are we supposed to do?” Eruestan whispered.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Rowena said. The woman’s eyes were following her own, and she had the unsettling feeling that she was looking at her like her next meal. “We should keep moving – Branka must be nearby, there’s no way she made it too far on her own.”

“They’ll come for you!” Hespith shrieked suddenly. “Just like they came for everyone else! And then they’ll find me, and make me one of them, too!”

“We can’t leave her like this,” Eruestan whispered. “It’d be cruel.”

“You’re right,” Rowena said. “Oghren, do you—”

“Let me take care of it,” he said grimly, setting down his warhammer. He approached his cousin slowly, hands held out in front of him. “There, there, nice and easy,” he said gently, kneeling down next to her. “ _Tikhe, tikhe_ …”

“ _Ogrenshka_ ,” she said sweetly, almost like a little girl. “Everything is so dark.”

“I know, Heshpa, I know.” He jerked his arm forward suddenly, and she froze. Then her face relaxed, and her eyes closed. Oghren pulled his dagger back and placed it into its sheath before rising to his feet. The three of them stared at her in silence for a moment. “I used to take the piss out of her when she was a kid,” he said gruffly. “Always said she read too much.”

Eruestan put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Oghren.”

“I am, too,” Rowena said softly.

He grunted and picked up his hammer again. “Worse things happen every day down here,” he said. “No use cryin’ about it. We should keep movin’ through these tunnels. Sounds like Branka’s got a lot to answer for.”

He started to make his way towards the tunnel heading out from the other end of the cave. Rowena looked over at Eruestan, who was trembling like a leaf. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded, snapping his fingers to extinguish the ball of light. “Rowena, what’s going on?”

She reached out in the dim light and squeezed his arm. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “And I think it’s only going to get worse.”

He laughed humorlessly and began to follow Oghren. They left Hespith’s body lying there in peace, her chant somehow still echoing in the air.

They climbed through the tunnels in silence for a while, each lost in thought. Hespith’s poem was burned in Rowena’s brain – she had the bizarre feeling of almost, but not quite, understanding what she meant. Something awful was going on – what that was, though, she couldn’t say.

Something in the tunnel, however, was clearly very wrong. The ground was now thick with sludge, and even the air seemed to be tainted. The whispering that had plagued her since they had first entered the roads now seemed stronger and more persistent, rolling in like waves at the back of her mind. “It’s driving me crazy,” she muttered finally, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead.

“I know,” Eruestan said wearily. “I can’t take much more of this.”

“Me neither,” Oghren spat. “It’s like a bunch of humpin’ cats.”

The two Wardens looked at each other. “What do you mean, Oghren?” Eruestan asked. “You can’t hear what we hear – it’s linked to being a Grey Warden.”

The dwarf snorted. “Well, slap some griffon wings on my ass, then, because I’ve been hearin’ that blighted moaning for the past thirty minutes.”

“Moaning?” Rowena said. She stopped and tried to pay close attention to what she was hearing, focusing on blocking out the call of the Taint. Sure enough, buried beneath the song in her head was a faint chorus of low, unending moans that seemed to be snaking its way through the tunnels and passages.

“Maybe it’s just the wind?” Eruestan offered.

“Nothing’s just the wind anymore,” Rowena said grimly. “Be on your guard, everyone.”

They began to slowly advance through the tunnels, expecting to find new horrors at every turn. Twistedly, the groaning only seemed to grow stronger the slower they went, until soon it was all Rowena was able to hear. More than anything, those moans sent a flood of shivers down her spine. They bizarrely followed the same rhythm as the song in her head, the two melding together in a terrible, intoxicating hymn. “It’s getting close,” she said, clutching her head. There were screams in her thoughts now, too, horrible screams that punctuated the melody. “I don’t know what it is, but…”

Her voice trailed off. She opened her mouth to say something, to scream, but nothing came out. They were standing on a ledge, as if someone had just cut part of the wall away from the tunnel. The ledge looked out onto a large cavern, lit by crystals that stretched up into a ceiling that vanished out of sight. But Rowena did not look up – none of them did.

The cave was filled with…things. Monsters. Hideous, moaning blobs of flesh. Their ledge was a good thirty feet in the air, but the things had to be at least seven feet tall, morbidly fat beasts that rose out of the ground like stalagmites. They were covered in bile, their skin rotten, bruised, scratched. Each body was covered in repugnantly fat breasts, each suckling a darkspawn. They were all different: the ones near the back were bald and amorphous, but the closer they were the more likely they were to have hair, a face, the remnants of clothing. As her mouth lay open in its silent scream, the thing closest to Rowena lolled its head towards her, staring at her with empty, gouged-out eyes…

She ran forward blindly, throwing herself into the tunnel in front of them, away from the moans, away from the horror. She retched, again and again, the sound masked by the groaning. Beside her, Eruestan was retching, too, his hands clamped over his ears. “That’s what they do,” she screamed, her voice almost lost in the noise. She didn’t know who she was yelling for – herself, her friends, those creatures? “They take women – and they turn them into those…those…”

“It’s too much,” Eruestan kept saying. “This is too much. I can’t – I don’t…”

It was a greater horror than she had ever had to face. Was that the fate that awaited her? Would she, too, spend the rest of her life trapped in a cave, screaming in vain while darkspawn climbed over her body? Every one of those things had been a woman, and now they had been condemned by the Blight, violated, twisted beyond all recognition. “We have to help them,” she moaned to no one, even though she knew there was no help anymore, that the world had gone dark. “We can’t…we can’t just…”

All of a sudden someone was stuffing something into her ears. She sat up and watched as Oghren stuffed wads of fabric into Eruestan’s ears as well before offering her a flask. She took it obediently, too busy enjoying the silence to worry about where it came from, and took a swig. It was vile, but suddenly she felt calmer, only slightly more in control. After giving a drink to Eruestan, Oghren dragged both of them to their feet and led them away up the tunnel.

They stumbled along for a while in the silence, too numbed to react any differently. Finally, they reached another small grotto where Oghren made them stop. “Probably should take a rest,” he said gruffly. “Just wanted to get away from that damn noise.”

Rowena looked at Eruestan, who was sniffling into the sleeve of his robes. Normally she would feel embarrassed, breaking down like that, but not then. “It’s over,” Eruestan said finally. “We’re not going to make it.”

“Yes, we are,” Oghren said.

“No, we’re not,” Rowena said. She was shivering; all the heat seemed to have left the tunnels. “I’m done being brave, I’m done being strong. We can’t fight this.”

“Yes, you can,” Oghren said.

“Those poor women,” Eruestan said hopelessly. “You saw how many darkspawn there were – we couldn’t have saved them even if we tried.”

“We can’t save anyone,” Rowena said. “Not if they can do that. Death was bad enough – if they can do that, though…what’s the point?”

“Will you two nugfuggers listen to yourselves?” Oghren barked. They looked up at him in wonder, as if he was the first person they’d ever heard speak. “What’s the point? What’s the _point_? You’re the bleedin’ point! That shit down there is why we have you around!”

“Oghren,” Eruestan said, “we can’t—”

“If not you, who, then?” he said. “Who? If the kid who can shoot lighting out of his hands and the girl with the fancy sword can’t do it, who can? Some kid who’s never held a blade before? Some young girl who’s just going to get dragged down here and turned into one of them herself?” They didn’t answer, each suddenly deeply ashamed. “Yes, that’s the worst damn thing I’ve seen,” Oghren growled. “And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t make me want to blast my bleedin’ brain in, but I won’t, because this isn’t the first Blight Orzammar’s been through and it won’t be the last, and if I don’t step up then a whole lot of people are gonna die instead of me. When you’re faced with _that_ , you don’t get to say ‘you can’t’, because right now, you _have_ to.”

Rowena sat there for a moment, hugging herself in the dark. “I don’t know if it was the speech or the ale, Oghren,” she said. “But you’re right. I’m sorry you had to see that from us.”

“I am, too,” Eruestan said quietly. “You were right – we don’t have the luxury of being weak.”

“Well, let’s not make it a sob fest, I don’t do hugs,” Oghren grunted. “You wanna take a moment?”

The two Wardens looked at each other and shook their heads. “We should get moving,” Rowena said, standing up. “Branka has to be nearby – and she has some explaining to do.”


End file.
